


Power of the Elders

by Inlovewithcomedy99



Series: Power of the Elders [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts First Year, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Philosopher's Stone(s), Squibs, The Golden Trio, Wandless Magic, mentions of Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inlovewithcomedy99/pseuds/Inlovewithcomedy99
Summary: Harry knows nothing of his family and yet the whole world seems to know everything about him. However there's one thing that neither know about the true heritage of Harry's family, one that could threaten his very life should it ever get out. The Elders were witches and warlocks, who did not require wands to channel their power and are believed to be long gone. So what does Harry have to do with them? And why does the mystery of their long lost Queen hold the answer to every mystery that has ever plagued him?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU, there are two kinds of witches and wizards; those who need wands and those who don't and basically they don't get on (surprise!) and have a long standing feud which has resulted in those who wands defeating the wand-less ones, or so they think. Without giving too much away, as it will all be revealed in the story, this is a different version of James Potter's parents and how the series would be different if they were alive and what life would be like for Harry once he found out. 
> 
>  
> 
> The war is won, Voldemort is believed long gone. Every one is celebrating this victory for the wizarding world, right?

The first light of day had just begun to creep across the grounds of Hogwarts as an exhausted wizard and witch made their way to the castle. The faint sounds of the celebrations could be heard echoing from Hogsmeade; however the pair could not bring themselves to join in the festivities. The night sung with the vanquish of the Dark Lord; however their hearts cried with the loss of two innocent lives.

The dark haired witch glanced at her companion, her emerald eyes searching his aged face desperate for him to look at her. “Albus…” she whispered, desperate to discuss the events that had transpired.

He did not stop but surrendered his gaze to her, glancing mournfully over his half-moon spectacles. “It was the right thing to do.” He said, unsure of whom he was trying to convince.

“But why the muggles Albus?” the witch cried for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “Surely there are other places where he will be just as well protected?”

“Perhaps,” Albus allowed. “But his name is famous. He would be forever hounded. Living with his aunt and uncle will protect him, no one will know where to find and not think to look for him there.”

“ _She_ won’t be happy you know.” They both stopped, analysing each other as they might over a chess match. “He would have been safe with her, no one would dare try and harm him and we needn’t worry about his protection as she could certainately keep him safe…”

“Minerva,” Albus sighed, allowing his exhaustion to finally surface. “More people want her dead than any other. Placing Harry with her would simply draw attention and questions would be asked.” At her broken look, he took her hand in his. “They would both be in danger.”

Minerva stepped forward, resting her head against his shoulder, grateful that he wrapped his free arm around her. “I know.” She whispered so quietly, Albus almost didn’t hear her. “That doesn’t make it any easier though.” They remained like this for a few moments, simply taking comfort from the other’s presence, before Albus gently tugged at her hand and they carried on walking towards the castle, unconsciously still holding one another’s hand.

Once they entered through the massive doors, they immediately noticed the dark and heavy atmosphere that seemed to have settled over the building. The corridors were eerily silent as they made their way towards Dumbledore’s office and even the candles (that were charmed to burn throughout the night) seemed to be flickering in little more than dying embers. As they approached the gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster’s office, they were surprised to see it already open, waiting for their assent.

Sharing a look they both trudged up the staircase wearily, the weight of what was to come enough to make them want to turn away from the entrance and never look back. Dumbledore slowly pushed the door to his office open, revealing the room within. At first, everything looked to be in order, shadows creeping back into the corners of the room due to the rising of the sun. It was then Albus noticed that the shadows were not moving away from the window but rather crawling towards it, joining to the figure that was stood before it.

The figure was dressed in a deep crimson velvet dress that pooled out onto the marble floor and her long ebony hair had been pulled over one shoulder, revealing the open back of her dress and the ancient runes that marred her pale skin in a vertical line that travelled the length of her spine. Streaks of silver glimmered in the early morning light as she turned her head slightly to acknowledge the arrival of the headmaster and his deputy. One hand was slowly tracing a pattern around the dancing flame that rested on the window, lazily causing it to flicker and dance away from her pale hand.

“I believe we need to talk.” Albus spoke at last, his voice seeming louder in the silence of the room.

As Albus spoke, the woman tensed and extinguished the candle between her middle finger and thumb. “I believe we do.” The woman replied in a silky smooth voice that betrayed no emotions as she turned towards them, her icy blue eyes glowing with a mixture of rage and magic.


	2. The Welcoming Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years have passed since the baby Harry defeated Lord Voldemort. Now he has begun his education at Hogwarts and, as he discovers, everyone has a mystery surrounding them...

_10 Years Later…_

For the first time in his young life, Harry Potter, the boy who lived, felt truly like he belonged. He was sat in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, having been sorted into the house of Gryffindor, and was now tucking into the mouth-watering spread that was laid before him. He glanced around at his fellow housemates, who were already becoming fast friends, and couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched Ron tried to shove a third pumpkin pasty into his already full mouth and the Weasley twins sat conspiring, no doubt on their latest prank. Yes, Harry was certain that he could find his family here within the walls of this ancient castle.

Looking for other sights to entertain himself with, Harry let his gaze drift restlessly around the hall, over the other three long tables that represented each of the great houses before finally settling on the raised table at the far end of the room where the teachers sat. He glanced at the still unfamiliar faces of his new teachers, trying to put the scant few names he’d heard to the faces. He was able to identify the headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, whose name he had heard frequently since he discovered his true heritage only a short while before. Beside him, and engaged in a deep discussion with the headmaster, was the deputy headmistress and head of his house, Professor Minerva McGonagall and beside her…an empty seat.

Harry glanced around in confusion, looking to see if he could see a teacher wandering in between the long tables however he could see none. He was about to inquire about the vacant seat when a low sound of thunder rumbled through the hall. A nervous hush descended over all those present as the sound grew louder and more aggressive before seemingly silencing as soon as it started. Confusion descended amongst the students, many turning to look to the teachers for answers who were either openly smirking, or doing a very poor job of trying to hide it.

Suddenly, the doors to the hall burst open and an ebony-haired woman swept into the room heading towards the teacher’s table. She was dressed in a long, floor-length crimson gown. Like most other witch’s fashion, it looked several centuries old in its design. The sleeves of the dress were long, narrowing until a thin cord attached it to her middle fingers. It was modestly low cut, also revealed her pale shoulders, and had a tight corset beneath the bodice that pulled her already slender waist inwards. The bodice itself had an intricate design, woven with gold and black thread, and small black gems glistened in the candlelight. The back of the skirt dragged slightly behind her, the hem raised slightly at the front to reveal the wickedly high boots she wore.

However it wasn’t the elaborate dress that astounded Harry. As he beheld at her pale face, he found himself mesmerised by her icy blue eyes that reminded him of two frozen lakes. He noticed that in a certain light, they almost looked completely white.

As he watched the mysterious woman take the empty seat beside Professor McGonagall, picking up a goblet of wine and sipping it graciously, he found himself wondering who she was. He had not realised that he had asked the question allowed until Percy Weasley said “That’s Professor Olenna Amora. She teaches weaponry and wand-less combat.”

“Wand-less combat?” Harry questioned.

“Fighting muggle style.” Fred grinned, holding his fists up as though her were boxing. “No magic, just yourself or a weapon.”

“It’s one of the oldest subjects at Hogwarts,” Percy interrupted with an air of superiority. “Anyway, it’s not like she can teach much else, is it?”

“What do you mean?” Harry found his gaze travelling back to Professor Amora.

“She’s a squib.” George said, and at Harry’s confused look explained, “Someone born of a wizarding family but has no magic. Quite unusual really, normally squibs are educated at muggle schools but she was educated here at Hogwarts. And you’re just bitter cause she knocked you flat on your arse when you got cocky.” He added, smirking at a furious looking Percy.

“Yeah and you won’t believe how old she is.” Fred laughed and nudged his twin.

“How old?” A boy sat slightly further down, Neville Longbottom, had apparently been listening in to the conversation (as had many of the first years that were sat within earshot) asked.

“Well let’s put it this way. She fought in the war against Grindelwald. She was in the same year as old McGonagall.” Harry had no idea who Grindelwald was, however judging by the appearance of his head of house, that would make Professor Amora to be in her seventies.

“How’s that possible. She only looks about thirty!” Cried another first year whose name Harry did not know.

“The rumour is that she is that her mother was a faery and her father an ordinary wizard, so she inherited the ability to age slowly, yet not magic.” Fred said.

“She can make charms and potions, and communicate with most animals so she was able to attend Hogwarts but could not do any subjects that involved actual magic.” Percy interrupted. “And her being a faery’s child was never proved, it’s just a rumour.”

“Yeah but have you seen her eyes.” A third year said mysteriously. “There’s no human that gave her those.” Harry glanced over to the professor again, however this time she seemed to sense that she was being watched, and looked up, staring directly into Harry’s eyes. He tried to tear his eyes away and found that he could not. He noticed how her eyes widened in surprise and her whole demeanour became tense as she regarded him. Beside her, McGonagall was trying to regain her attention, and when she noticed where her colleague and childhood friend was looking, she hastily whispered something to the pale-eyed woman that instantly snapped her out of her reverie with a pained look.

“What do you keep looking at Harry?” Ron asked, noticing his friend’s slightly dazed look.

“Nothing,” Harry replied haltingly. “I just feel like…I know her from somewhere…like I’ve seen her before.

Ron just shrugged his shoulders and continued stuffing his face. Harry looked in Professor Amora’s direction one last time. She was very intently staring down at her plate of food, stabbing at it with great vigour. He couldn’t help but feel like she was deliberately avoiding his gaze. But that raised the question, why was she trying so hard not to look at him?

And why was he so sure that she was a forgotten figure from his past?


	3. Dark Nights and Darker Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At night our dreams come out to play...

_It was dark, oppressively so. It seemed to come towards him, crushing his chest and clawing its way up his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, or cry out all he could do was remain frozen, his eyes darting around trying desperately to find some form of light, some way for him to escape. In the distance, he could hear the faint rumbling of thunder, yet there was no trace of the lighting that must have caused it. The sound was growing louder and louder, creeping closer and closer._

_Harry tried desperately to turn and run from it but his heavy limbs would not move, and he was sure that tendrils of darkness had bound his wrists and ankles preventing his escape, however all he could see was the darkness surrounding him._

_Suddenly, there was a bright flash accompanied by a deafening boom. Harry flinched, sure he had seen a hunched figure crawling towards him in the moment of light. He fought even more desperately to try and escape though his struggle was in vain as he felt himself being sucked forward towards where he had seen the figure._

_There was another bright flash, this time a scream of agony echoed through his mind and the figure was illuminated again. This time it was closer, so close Harry could smell the metallic scent of blood hanging thickly in the air. The figure, Harry could now see, was in a heavy cloak that obscured its face and body. Despite this, he could clearly see a long, ornate sword sticking out of its chest. Another agonised scream resounded through the darkness and Harry suddenly felt all of his strength leave him with his invisible bonds and he collapsed to his knees, the light and figure disappearing as he fell._

_For a few moments he simply knelt there, trembling and panting heavily. His head snapped up as he heard the low rumble of thunder returning. As he listened, he realised that the sound was in fact not thunder, but something else entirely. It was the sound of a snarling, growling creature slowly making its way towards him. Gradually, its face came into Harry’s view, bright eyes, powerful jaw, and snarling muzzle that revealed long and sharp teeth, poised to kill. As he observed in silent terror, he realised that he was staring into the face of a huge lion, at least twice the size of any he’d seen at the zoos he’d visited on Dudley’s whim. Not only was its size unlike any he’d witnessed before, but its fur was a deep ebony colour, causing the shadowy mane to almost melt into the surrounding darkness. As Harry found himself gazing into the beast’s eyes, he noted the extraordinary pale colour that he could not seem to pinpoint._

_It continued to approach him, until Harry could feel its warm breath on his face. He watched with morbid fascination as it seemed to utter a low groan of pain before its pale eyes began to fade and change colour, the dark and dead colour of black bleeding and spreading to fill the lion’s irises…_

Harry awoke with a start, sweeting and gulping desperately for air. He groped blindly before finally locating his glasses on the bedside table where he had left them the night before. With a sense of relief washing over him, he saw that he was still in the Gryffindor dormitories and that he’d simply been dreaming.

“You alright mate?” The groggy voice of Ron asked, his head just held of the pillow, barely awake.

“Er…yeah I’m fine.” Harry lied, supressing a cold shiver as the memories of his dream invaded his thoughts.

“You were shouting in your sleep. Woke me up.” Ron yawned, already falling back to sleep.

“Sorry, just a bad dream.” Harry said and received incoherent mumbling and realised that Ron was lost to the world. Glancing over at the small clock next to his bed, he sighed as he saw that it was only 3:00am. He knew it was too early to rise, and it was likely his roommates would not appreciate the early morning wake up call, so he settled back into his pillows, determined to try and get some more sleep.

After tossing and turning for a few minutes, he found that he could not shake the dream off and every time he closed his eyes, he was plagued with images of the figure, hunched over in agony and the sword protruding from its chest, or the lion and its pale eyes that had become lifeless and dark. He tried to work out what it had meant, but slowly found himself succumbing to exhaustion, the fractured pieces of the dream slowly fading into nothing but a hollow feeling.


	4. Early Morning Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of term always has a challenge or two for Minerva

Walking calmly through the familiar halls, Professor Minerva McGonagall enjoys the serene and peaceful atmosphere that was now referred to by the staff of Hogwarts as the ‘calm before the storm’. Readjusting her hold upon the stack of student’s timetables (neatly arranged in alphabetical order of houses and years) she entered the great hall and made her way towards the teacher’s table. Minerva was not in the least bit surprised that the hall was virtually empty, save for a few over excited first years and a handful of individuals from the other years. The teacher’s table on the other hand was already beginning to fill as she observed Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout were already sat down and tucking into their breakfasts, no doubt trying to get an early start before the busy day ahead.

Greeting her colleagues, she took her usual seat next to the still vacant chair of the headmaster and began to fill her plate. It was customary, since she became deputy headmistress, that she would have her breakfast early with experience teaching her that she would not have a chance once she had begun to hand out the student’s timetables.

Minerva was already almost finished when Professor Amora approached her, walking rather stiffly she noted with concern. “Olenna.” She said in a way of greeting as the pale eyed woman sat beside her. She turned and inclined her head as she sunk into her chair, her greeting little more than a forced out grunt.

“What happened?” Minerva questioned after watching her friend try to reach to fill her goblet with her left hand before uttering a slight whine of pain and slowly lowering her arm back down. “Do you mind?” Olenna rasped, jerking her head towards the jug of pumpkin juice, ignoring Minerva’s question. Sighing, Minerva reached across and poured the liquid into a goblet and handed it to her fellow professor.

“This is what happens when you ignore my advice.” Madame Pomfrey said without even looking up from her copy of the _Daily Prophet._ Olenna simply gave the witch a sour look and muttered “it was fine before you started poking around.”

Slamming her paper shut, she gave Olenna a stern look. “It was fine _after_ I started ‘poking around’. What made it worse was you deciding you needed to practice your axe wielding skills at an ungodly hour. Three o’clock in the bloody morning she darkens my doorstep with her stumbling and wheezing.” She said, rounding on Minerva.

Turning away from the fuming medi-witch, Minerva asked, “Where exactly did you go on your holidays Olenna?”

“Greece,” she arched an eyebrow as Olenna picked up an apple and took a bite from it. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she chewed. “I encountered a minotaur in a small village just outside Athens. Gave me one hell of a whack with its hammer before I finally slayed the thing.”

“Every rib on her left side was shattered.” Poppy interjected. Minerva shook her head ruefully, a slight smirk forming on her lips. “And just how did the grateful villagers repay you for your great deed?”

At this, Olenna’s scowl deepened. “With a basket of olives,” She snapped as both Minerva and Poppy tried, and failed, to contain their laughter. “I hate olives! Why not a nice barrel of their best wine?”

“Because you probably drunk that beforehand.” Poppy muttered catching Olenna’s eye, relieved to see her face morph into an expression of amusement.

Minerva glanced around the hall, noticing that the main body of students were beginning to pile in and move towards their respective house tables. She felt a smile grace her face as she saw the figure of the headmaster glide through the sea of loitering students and move towards the teachers table. Her smile increased as he returned it with one of his own. “Good morning Minerva.”

“Good morning Albus,” she replied, not taking her eyes from him as he sat down beside her. Once he was seated, she returned her attention back to the stack of timetables and began passing them to the respective heads of houses.

“And how are you this morning Olenna?” Albus said, turning his twinkling stare towards her. “I hear you suffered a bit of an injury recently.” He winked at Minerva, and she ducked her head to hide the grin that spread quickly across her face.

“Don’t worry about me,” Olenna chuckled. “I’ll be fine by the end of the day. Damned Ministry has decided that there needs to be more written elements to weaponry, so I won’t be handling any weapons.” They all shared a solemn look. All of them were feeling the pressure from the Ministry of Magic to increase the amount of written work and independent essays and research within their subjects, which of course meant more marking and less time to actually teach the students practical skills. Both Minerva and Olenna had some very choice words to say about that. “Still, at least it’s only for OWLS and NEWTS.” Olenna sighed. “I’ve still got some freedom over what I teach the first years.”

“And how long before that changes too?” Snape spoke in his usual glowering way, however not even Minerva could deny he had a point.

“You’re planning to start with the first years straight away?” Poppy asked, her voice growing feint. It was a well-known fact that there was always a casualty on the first day, normally from Olenna’s class and normally caused when a student decided to try and get smart with her.

“Most definitely.” Olenna nodded her head in the affirmative. “Got to break them in at some point, best to get it over with sooner rather than later.” Poppy gave a weak and half-hearted nod before excusing herself and scurrying from the hall.

Minerva sighed and arose from her seat, gathering up the timetables to be distributed amongst her house. “You will go easy on the first years won’t you?” Minerva said sternly. “The last thing I need is another parent complaining that their child got injured in one of your lessons.” Olenna simply gave her an innocent smile and traced a halo around her head. “I mean it Olenna.”

“Fine.” Olenna sighed, “I’ll just do an introductory lesson, teach them about the weapons and then maybe do a little warm up?”

Minerva thought this would be acceptable, and said as much, before heading towards the Gryffindor table. She made her way along the table, finally encountering Harry Potter sat amongst a group of first years. She was glad to see that he seemed to be settling in as secretly she was worried that his name would prevent him from having a normal life once he entered Hogwarts. And when she found out that Harry had no idea of his magical roots until they sent Hagrid to find him, well that had done nothing to calm her practically frantic worrying. She had spent hours fretting to Albus, however all the infuriating man had to say was that he was sure that everything would work out for the best, looking at her over those half-moon spectacles of his with an amused expression and those damned twinkling eyes.

She quickly snapped herself out of her reverie realising that she had stopped in the process of handing Harry is timetable, earning an odd look from him. Now was not the time to get lost in her thoughts, she still had dozens of students to get through, not to mention she wanted to go over her lesson plans and make sure that she still had the matchsticks for her first years class in the afternoon. Last year she had risked it and left them out on her desk only to find that Peeves had got to them resulting in a fire in the muggle studies classroom and her having no matchsticks to use for her lesson. Now, she kept them under lock and key (and a few very strong anti-poltergeist spells) to prevent this from happening again.

Continuing on her way down the long table (sometimes she really wished they would sit in year order, it would make her task so much easier) she could her Harry and Ron Weasley discussing their lessons for the day. “Herbology, History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration…” Harry said, from his tone it was clear he had no idea what any of these were.

“Talk about throwing us in head first.” Ron groaned, “Look what we have last.”

“Weaponry.” They both said, sharing a look of dread.

Minerva almost grinned when she heard Hermione interrupt their grumbling. “I don’t know why you’re complaining.” She said haughtily “I highly doubt it will be _that_ bad.”

“You must be joking.” Ron scoffed whilst stuffing his face with the hearty breakfast he had piled onto his plate. “It’s one of the toughest lessons there is. Old Amora was professor when my dad was here, and he said if you get on her nerves she’ll invite you to duel, which you have to accept, and point out every fault you make for the whole class to witness. And she doesn’t go easy on you.”

“Yeah but she lets you pick the weapon you duel with.” Neville piped up. He’d overheard a group of third years discussing her lesson in the common room the night before. He’d been quite surprised to hear that how much respect they’d had for the apparently terrifying professor.

“Not much good when she’s a master of pretty much every weapon.” Ron grumbled.

“Well I shouldn’t imagine she’ll do that on our first lesson.” Hermione said, trying to be the voice of reason. “She’ll probably just tell us about different kinds of weapons and maybe teach us some basics. I don’t think it should be too difficult.”

Minerva’s head snapped up and she hastily looked over to where Olenna was sat. She watched in horror as the professor’s face contorted into a mischievous smirk, as she looked directly at Minerva and raised her glass silently.

With new fund vigour, Minerva hastily made her way through the remaining students. She’d have to visit Madame Pomfrey before continuing with her list of things to do. Someone had to warn her to have several beds at the ready.


	5. Weaponry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his first encounter with the infamous Weapon's Mistress...

By the time last lesson came around, Harry felt like his brain would explode. He felt over whelmed by not only the size of the school, but the fact that the castle seemed to have a mind of its own, and sometimes certain parts would seem to appear in completely different locations to where they had been previously. At first he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, after all it was a large school and the grounds were still relatively unfamiliar to him; however by the third time it happened he was convinced that it wasn’t just him. The moving staircases still caught him off guard at times, but he was starting to get the hang of it.

His day had started out fine, but quickly to a turn for the worst when he and Ron got lost on their way to lesson. That was when he had encountered the caretaker, Filch, and his precious cat, Mrs Norris, who seemed convinced that they were trying to get into the third-floor (strictly prohibited to all students) and only begrudgingly let them go when the stuttering Professor Quirrell, who was passing by at the time, vouched for them.

He’d found his lessons quite enjoyable, though couldn’t help but marvel at the difference compared to the other schools he’d gone to, _muggle schools_ he had heard others call them, but had quickly discovered that there was more work to them than originally thought. In Transfiguration Professor McGonagall had expected them to change a matchstick into a needle, which none of them could do. None of them that is, apart from Hermione Granger.

And now he was waiting outside the door of his final lesson of the day; Weaponry. He’d heard varying opinions and tales of what Professor Amora’s lessons were like, however one thing everyone agreed on was that there was no one who knew the art of Weaponry and wand-less combat better than she did.

As he and his fellow classmates entered through the heavy oak door, Harry observed the room suddenly feeling very nervous. The room itself was much bigger than most of the other classrooms he’d seen, at least two or three times bigger, and was divided into two sections. The larger half was left mostly clear, save for a few raised platforms towards the back of the room. Running along the side was an array of different weapons, more than Harry had ever seen in his life, lined up neatly on shelves and stands. The large clear area appeared to be divided into eight circular sections, with a walkway in between the two rows, by what looked like chalk. Stood by the edges of these rectangles were large armour suits, and as Harry regarded them he felt a chill run down his spine, as though they were watching him through the dark and lifeless slits of their helmets.

Turning his attention to the smaller half of the room, he noticed that it was set up more like a traditional classroom, with three rows of desks facing a large and decorative desk, to which their weaponry professor was leaning calm against, watching them silently. There was a large chalk board beside the desk, with various diagrams and notes on that made no sense to Harry. In a glass case upon a shelf on the wall, just behind Amora’s desk, was a short yet very ornate looking sword. Harry was sure that that the blade would run the same length as his elbow to the tip of his middle finger and the hilt, solid gold fashioned into a spiral effect, was encrusted with several blood red rubies. The blade itself was a deep ebony colour, polished so well that if he stood in front of it, he could probably see his own reflection.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Harry jump as he saw the rest of the class was taking their seats, and Professor Amora regarding him with an expression which he couldn’t tell whether it was amusement or irritation. He quickly scurried to a desk beside Ron, about five from the front, placing his books on his desk, however opting to keep his wand in his pocket rather than taking it out and putting it on the desk as a few other students (Slytherins) had chosen to do. Percy Weasley had warned him and Ron that they would be best to keep their wands hidden as they wouldn’t need them and it just annoyed Amora.

“Right then,” Professor Amora’s sharp voice rang out across the classroom, effectively capturing the attention of everyone present. “Now that you’re all settled, I am Professor Amora and I shall be your Weaponry and Wand-less combat teacher. I’d say the name is pretty explanatory however I shall spell it out for you.” She paused, her gaze sweeping over the students. “In these lessons I shall be teaching you how to defend yourself when you find yourself disarmed magically. You shall learn how to fight, not only with weapons, but with anything you may have at your disposal, even if that be only yourselves.” She pushed herself of the desk and steadily moved along the aisle between the desks. “Although I hope you never find yourselves in such a situation, someday these skills may save your lives. It is unlikely your opponent shall fight honourably, so I say use whatever dexterity you need, so long as you win.”

Towards the back of the room, Harry heard snickering however it seemed that Professor Amora did not hear it as she continued to address them.

“During these lessons I expect you to try your hardest in whatever I ask of you. Like anything else at Hogwarts it will take hard work and determination to improve. And I expect Mr Malfoy,” she suddenly spun round to face Draco Malfoy, who was sat in the very far corner, “for you not to try and enchant that piece of parchment to fly around the room without my noticing. Do you think I was born yesterday,” she roared as Malfoy’s face began to grow red from anger and embarrassment. “Put your wand away!” Harry watched in amusement Malfoy, along with the other Slytherins, put their wands away under the cold glare of the Professor.

“I shall let you off this time,” she was now talking to the whole class again. “However for future references you will have no need for your wands in these lessons, and if you decide to ignore this, then I shall confiscate them and you can explain to your other teachers why you have no wand for their lessons.”

Harry was no grinning widely, finding that the competitiveness between Gryffindors and Slytherins had begun to infect him. “Something amusing Potter?” Professor Amora questioned when she noticed him.

“No Professor.” He said, barely managing to contain his smile as he looked into the icy eyes of the unbelievably tall women. She held his gaze for a moment, in which time he was sure he saw the ghost of a smile raise the corner of her mouth, before gliding back towards her desk. “Now today I thought about giving you an easy lesson. I was going to _tell you about different kinds of weapons_ and then _teach you some basics._ For a first lesson, nothing _too difficult._ However you won’t learn by simply being taught so I’m going to go straight into it.” She pulled the cloth off a tall object that was resting on her desk. “This is a war hammer. A nasty weapon and very good when you want to dispose of an opponent quickly. I recently had a run in with a Minotaur in Greece that used one of these, broke all my ribs on my left side, so I thought it would be a good place to start…”


	6. Broken Bones and After Lesson Chats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns so much more than he anticipated...

Surprisingly enough, Harry had found Weaponry to be quite enjoyable and as others had said, Professor Amora was definitely an effective teacher. She’d explained the key features of the weapon, how to hold it, where best to strike for maximum impact. Then, picking up the weapon as though it weighed nothing, she glided into one of the chalked circles. As soon as she crossed the slightly faded line, the dark iron armour seemed to suddenly come alive, two crimson orbs glowing from within its helmet. Several other students gasped as a smoky mist grew from the hand of the eight foot tall creature, and gradually solidified to form an equally terrifying hammer.

Professor Amora had assured them that these creatures were simply training dummies, enchanted to come alive once an opponent set foot within the ring with whatever weapon Amora decided. The creature then lunged for her, wielding its large hammer, raising it above its head to bring down upon her with a mighty blow. However, the Professor saw this coming and quickly dodged to the side just in time as the hammer struck the ground with an almighty blow.

Without giving it a chance to recover, she quickly swirled, swinging her hammer round and delivering a startling blow to the creature’s back, sending it stumbling forward. As it began to rise again, Professor Amora to the shaft of her hammer in both hands and raise it up and around until the large head of the weapon was behind the back of her head. In one long sweeping arch she brought her weapon round again delivering a fatal blow to the side of its head, shattering the helmet and resulting in the creature dissolving into a pile of lifeless dust.

Leaving the ring, albeit slightly stiffly, Professor Amora hobbled slightly over to the desk and placed her weapon down with a deep _Thunk_. The pile of dust suddenly disappeared as another lifeless suit appeared at its edge, replacing its fallen comrade for the next duel.

The next thing he knew, the entire class had been split into groups of four, and each armed with hammer of their own, were instructed to practice dodging and attacking. As the practice dummies came to life, Harry noticed that they were moving much more slowly than the one Amora had duelled with. He overheard Hermione say that they were probably charmed to identify a person’s level of skills, though by the way she edged towards the outskirts of the ring, her hands trembling as she held the hammer, he sure she wasn’t a hundred per cent willing to test this theory. Entering into Harry’s ring, Professor Amora took his hammer from him, demonstrating what she wanted them to do. She moved slowly, each of her actions calculated and steady so as to make it clear as to what they had to do. Once she was finished, she walked back over to Harry, handing him back the hammer, unconsciously patting his shoulder as she walked past.

And so they slowly began trying to copy the actions she had shown them, no doubt looking nowhere near as graceful and elegant as Amora herself had looked when doing them. It was hard, but after a while Harry had started to get the hang of it, and from the approving nod he got Professor Amora seemed to think so too. She steadily made her way along the walk ways, helping only where and when was needed, but for the most part intently observing them.

“She’s looking for natural talent,” Malfoy, who was in the ring beside him, spoke pompously. “Having a famous name and a scar won’t get you that Potter.” Harry felt his temper rising as Malfoy continued to sneer at him, making japes about his already famous status. He was seriously considering taking a swing for him when he felt a presence stood beside him. When he turned and looked, he saw Professor Amora stood mere inches away, towering over him with a cool expression on her face.

However it wasn’t his she had directed her glare at.

It was Malfoy.

“If you continue to disrupt this lesson, _Draco,_ ” She spoke very slowly and deliberately, never once breaking eye contact with the blonde haired boy. “Then I shall be forced to start taking house points from Slytherin, and you shall be serving detention with me for the foreseeable future. Do you understand?” Malfoy grumbled that he did and Professor Amora ordered him back to his own ring. She then turned to face Harry, looking as though she were about to reprimand him too when a commotion from across the room caught her attention.

Somehow, Neville Longbottom had managed to get his hammer stuck in the top of his practice dummies head and was now clinging on for dear life as it spun round, trying to get the offending object out of its head. Eventually, the hammer came free and Neville was sent flying, as the dummy crumbled to dust, and he landed with a thud upon the floor, with the head of the hammer crashing down upon his fingers. Although only a practice one, and nowhere near as deadly as the real thing, the hammer still weighed enough to break a few bones, fingers especially.

To his credit, Neville didn’t cry out but rather sat there, his facing turning very pale as he let out a small, high pitched whine. Instantly, Professor Amora was by his side and lifting the weight off his hand then, kneeling down beside him to examine the extent of his injuries. “Broken,” she muttered as she gingerly lifted his hand to examine his purpling fingers. “I’ll have to take you to Madame Pomfrey, I’m afraid.” She regarded him with a look of bemusement, a mystified smile spreading across her face. “You must be my first student who’s defeated one of my dummies on their very first lesson.”

Neville, thinking this was a reprimand, miserably muttered, “It was an accident.”

“Well, I think that calls for 20 points for Gryffindor.” Neville’s head shot up, as did everyone else’s, to look at the Professor as though she had grown a second and then a third head. “I’m impressed Longbottom, accident or not, you’ve done well. Exceedingly so.” Neville’s face turned beetroot under the praise.

“Now then,” Professor Amora spoke as she carefully helped Neville to his feet. “I think we can call it a day, I’m pleased to say that you’ve all surpassed my expectations and I’m even more pleased that there has only been one minor injury so well done. I look forward to our next lesson.” She turned her attention back to Neville, who now looked like he was about to be sick, clearly dismissing them.

As they hastily made their way to the door, Amora called out to Harry, halting his retreat. “Harry, would you mind waiting behind for a moment? I’d like a word.” Ron gave him an apologetic look as he quickly scurried out of the door, following the rest of the class and leaving Harry alone.

“If you take a seat,” she said leading Neville to the door. “I’ll only be a moment.” And with that she was gone, the heavy door swinging shut behind her.

For a moment, Harry simply stared at the door, wondering what Professor Amora wanted to see him about. He wondered if she was planning to scold him for the incident with Malfoy, as she looked as though she were about to before Neville’s incident, but she didn’t look angry when she had asked him to wait behind.

Sighing, he slowly walked back towards the front of the classroom, moving past the large desk to the case that contained the gleaming ebony sword that had once again caught his eye. It looked even more mystifying up close, he noticed that amongst the rubies encrusted upon the hilt were tiny diamonds, some no bigger than the pint of a needle, and written along the blade. He examined it more closely, unable to decipher what it said…

“It’s Latin.” He jumped at the sound of the voice behind and spun around to see Amora stood beside her desk, her hands folded calmly before her.

“Oh.” He said awkwardly, unsure of how to reply.

“It’s been in my family for centuries.” She said moving leisurely to stand next to him. “The words mean ‘Born to the Ancients; Die by the Young’.”

“It’s very beautiful.” He replied, looking at the blade again. For a moment he was sure he saw another, rougher looking sword behind it, yet it disappeared as soon as he saw it.

“Yes it is.” Professor Amora turned and walked back towards the desks. “Come and sit down Harry.” She spoke softly, yet with an air of commanding that left no room for argument.

As he sat at one of the desks on the front row, he was surprised that Amora sat at the one beside it, facing him, rather than at her own bulky and lavish one. “Professor,” he began slightly hesitantly. “Is this about what happened with Malfoy?”

Regarding him slightly, she gave a slight nod and answered, “In a way. I wanted to ask how you were finding Hogwarts.” This threw him off slightly and he suddenly found himself feeling very unsure, and he told her that he was enjoying himself, yet found the work harder than he expected.

“Most students say the same,” The Professor said with mirth. “You’ll get used to it.” She suddenly became serious, hesitant, almost as though she was unsure of how to proceed. “You’re incident with Draco Malfoy, it’s not the first time… I mean you’ve…” she sighed and closed her eyes momentarily. “I’ve heard that you’ve been drawing quite a lot of attention due to your name, and I just wanted to say if you were having problems…”

“It’s not too bad really.” Harry again felt slightly surprised again by this teacher. “I mean it’s a bit odd, that everyone else seems to know more about my parents and what happened to them than I do.”

He watched as a dark look passed over her face, contorting her features into a terrifying expression, however she recovered herself almost as soon as it appeared. “I’m afraid that’s what happens when you survive such a heinous crime by such a feared dark wizard.”

“He-who-must-not-be-named.” Harry said, remembering what he’d overheard others calling this dark wizard.

“Voldemort.” Professor Amora spoke the name with such venom that Harry felt himself flinch. When he inquired as to why nobody would call him by his name, Amora replied, “Because he was so feared, even saying him name makes them believe he will come back to kill them.”

“But you don’t fear him.”

“No.” She replied, clearly not willing to divulge on the subject any further. She arose and Harry quickly did the same, following her towards the door. “Don’t let Malfoy get to you.” She said opening the door. “As tempting as it would be to wipe the smug little smirk of his face, getting yourself into trouble will take the sweetness out of it. His father can be like a dog with a bone.” She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. “Now run along, you don’t want to keep Hagrid waiting. Mind you, it might delay him inflicting his awful tea upon you.”

It wasn’t until much later, when he and Ron were making their way to Hagrid’s hut that he wondered how Professor Amora knew that he’d been invited by Hagrid to tea.


	7. Who Says a Gryffindor Can't be Cunning?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or how Minerva gets one up on Severus and enjoys every minute of it

Minerva’s expression could be compare to that of a cat that had got the cream. There was a slight spring in her step and she felt so elated that she almost had the urge to skip.

_Almost._

As she walked through the corridors of the ancient castle in the direction of the staff room, she received some… odd looks from the students. They wouldn’t say it was frightening as such, but the smug expression on their professor’s face certainately was… dubious. By the time she reached the staff room and sat in her customary armchair beside the fire (the fabric of the chair being made from the traditional tartan of her family – a thoughtful gift from Albus shortly after she started teaching and was homesick after not being able to visit her family during the Christmas of that first year), she was positively grinning with delight.

Looking up from her marking, Olenna raised an eyebrow. “What’s got you so cheerful?” She questioned. She was in the middle of reading Hermione Granger’s essay on the use of the dagger in close range combat during the war between the tribal wizards of Arabia during the 17th century, and was 3ft into the large scroll the girl had proudly presented to her and desperately looking for a distraction. Her work was intelligent and a joy to read… but my god did that girl go into detail.

“Nothing,” Minerva smirked. “I’ve just managed to resolve an issue that has been bothering me for quite some time.”

Before she could say anymore, the door of the staff room burst open, bouncing against the wall with such force, the resulting crash caused poor Professor Filius Flitwick to fall off his chair. Severus Snape stormed into the room, glaring heatedly and Minerva. “You.” He snarled, pointing a finger at her, his hand trembling from rage.

“Me, Severus.” Minerva said, poorly hiding the smirk that was seizing her lips.

“You must think that you were being so clever. Well you won’t get away with it, you know the rules! Wait until the Headmaster hears about this.”

“The Headmaster already has heard about this.” She was practically laughing with triumph. “And he has given his approval.”

“What?”

“Hate to interrupt,” Olenna said, leaning forward slightly and airily gesturing to herself and Filius. “However, some of us are trying to mark Granger essays here. Would you kindly, and briefly, clarify what is going on.”

Snape was the first one to speak, though his words were barely discernible through his gritted teeth. “ _Professor McGonagall_ has taken it upon herself to appoint a new seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

Olenna pursed her lips and thought for a moment, however it was Filius who voiced what they were both thinking. “I’m afraid I don’t see the harm in that. As long as they are a student of Hogwarts – in Gryffindor house?” Minerva silently nodded.

“Even when the student is a _first year?”_ Severus was seething by now.

“Oh what student?” Pomona Sprout piped up, having decided that the green house was not the best place for writing up her lesson plans.

Minerva was about to reply when Severus spoke over her, resulting in a very foul glare from the witch. “Harry Potter.”

The three other professors in the room exchanged a glance and then looked over to the deputy headmistress. “Any particular reason for the choice?” Olenna asked, a bright gleam in her eye that almost looked like pride.

“He’s clearly inherited his father’s talent for Quidditch.” Minerva replied. “You should have seen him. First flying lesson and he completes catches a remembrall without stumbling once.”

“Remembrall? Rolanda’s budget must be lower than I thought.” Olenna said.

“Oh Rolanda had taken a student to Poppy, she wasn’t there at the time.”

“So not only did Potter break a school rule for flying without supervision, but now he is being rewarded for it.” Grumbled Snape, though he realised he had lost the attention of the other professors.

“How did you get Dumbledore to agree to let a first year play on the Quidditch team?” Pomona asked, her lesson plan now discarded.

“Well, Dumbledore agreed that there was nothing wrong with _altering_ a few outdated rules every now and then. And besides,” A wicked smirk appeared on Minerva’s face. “I can be quite persuasive when I need to be.”

As Olenna threw her head back and laughed (Pomona and Filius doing a better job at hiding their amusement), Severus turned a slight shade of green and spun round, stalking out of the room hurriedly muttering under his breath about how unfair and bias it was. There was also something along the lines of “of course he’d side with her. Persuasive, ha. How else do you get to be Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor AND Deputy Headmistress”, but no one could be sure.

Minerva smirked as she watched the potions master skulk back to the dungeons to lick his wounds after his defeat. She leant over and picked up the latest catalogue for ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’, and turned to the broomstick section.

Oh how sweet it would be when her house won the Quidditch cup. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Severus’ face _then._


	8. Mysterious Mentionings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The History of the Giant Wars, or how a slip of the tongue can make things so much more interesting

Harry had managed to scrawl a handful of key names and dates from the Third Giant War before boredom immobilized him completely. He highly doubted that there was another person alive who rivalled the sheer magnitude of monotony that was inspired by just one person.

 _Maybe that’s because he’s not actually ALIVE,_ Harry thought bitterly. _I wonder if he was this boring in life, or was it something he picked up in death._

It was safe to say, Professor Binns had managed to bore his students to sleep for much longer than his due time. Even in death, this professor seemed determined to carry on his life’s work, however his effect seemed to go unnoticed by the professor, who neglected to even acknowledge his students as he drudged on through his very, very in-depth notes on the various Giant wars. It said a lot when he didn’t even notice the one student who never failed to engage in his lessons; Hermione Granger.

“She must take some sort of anti-drowsiness potion.” Ron had speculated to him, baffled as they had watched her write paragraph after paragraph on Binns’ notes. “There’s no way any normal person could stay awake with Binns’ droning on.”

“The Third Giant War,” the professor continued, as Harry let his mind wander to Quidditch and his new Nimbus 2000, “was the first Giant war not caused as a result of wizard intervention. It was caused by disputing Gurg’s wishing to increase the size of their own clans. The second Giant War had been caused by the expansion of the Wizarding, and to some extent, the Muggle communities forcing the Giants out of their territories and resulting in frequent clashes between the clans due to an increase in the number of giants living in certain areas.”

 _My God, does he ever stop?_ Harry shared a look with Ron, who simply shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to fall back asleep.

“The First Giant War has caused much speculation amongst those who have studied it. It is unknown whether it was caused by Wizard intervention or rival Gurgs or another factor entirely. Many believe it was caused by the Elders…”

At this point many students woke from their slumbering to share a confused glance with their fellow students. Harry had never heard the leaders of the Giants being called the Elders before, however he wrote it down regardless.

Hermione’s hand shot up and when this failed to attract the ghost’s attention, she said, “Professor, I don’t understand.”

“That’s a first.” Ron muttered under his breath. Harry was grateful she didn’t hear.

Professor Binns looked up at his class for what seemed like the first time since they had begun Hogwarts. “What is there not to understand?” He sighed irritably. “My notes state clearly enough the events of the Third Giant War, categorically…”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Hermione interrupted him. “I thought the higher-achy of the Giants consisted of one Gurg, who acted as leader to the entire clan.”

“That is correct.” Binns huffed.

“Then what is a ‘Giant Elder’?”

“There isn’t such a thing.”

“But you said…”

“I did not.” Binns looked more irritable than Harry had ever seen him before. If he were alive, Harry could almost imagine that he would have burst an artery. “Now, if we could get back to…”

“But you did say that many believed the First Giant War was caused by the Elders.” Hermione continued, refusing to give in.

For a moment, Binns appeared speechless. He sat staring out at his class, apparently unsure what to do next. “A slip of the tongue,” he murmured faintly. “Now, if we could return to-”

“But-“ Hermione tried once more.

“I will discuss this no more.” The professor bellowed to his startled, and now very much awake, class. “You would do well to forget the subject. Now then…” and he continued detailing the events that resulted in the start of the Third Giant War.

Harry looked around as many students crossed out their notes on the Elders, yet he himself could not. He was curious as to what, and who, they were and Professor Binns had reacted the way he did.

Looking over to Hermione, he saw she too had not crossed out her mention of the Elders, but rather had drawn a circle repeatedly around the word.


	9. When Curious, Ask a Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are answered

“For the love of Merlin-“

Harry watched as Professor McGonagall narrowly managed to dodge the goblet that sailed across the classroom after Ron’s failed attempt at turning it into a rose (rather he’d caused a mini explosion that had left a large scorch mark on the table and a soot stain across his face) and glared angrily at the students sat before her. “Whatever is the matter with you all?” She question, her lips pressing into such a thin line that Harry believed that they were in danger of disappearing altogether. “I’ve never had a lesson where in which my students were so distracted that they nearly _blew up my classroom!”_ Taking a deep breath, she managed to soften her voice slightly. “Now would someone kindly tell me what is bothering you all, so that I may resume this lesson without loss of life or limb?”

Many of the students exchanged guilty looks, and some even reddened with embarrassment. Whilst McGonagall’s words may have sounded like an overstatement, in truth the lesson had probably been worse. They had all been so preoccupied by Binn’s reaction, and curiously wondering what the Elders were, that none of them were paying attention to the Transfiguration lesson. Hell, even Hermione wasn’t listening with her usual rapid attention.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Seamus Finnigan spoke up. “Professor, who are the Elders?”

A single, dark eyebrow was raised.

“P-professor Binns mentioned them.” Neville bravely stuttered. “Though he didn’t say who they were. Or what they were. Or even if they were a _they_ or not. He seemed very keen to change the subject.”

Professor McGonagall silently regarded the students before her in a way that made Harry feel like she was going to give them all a month’s detention. “Well that doesn’t surprise me.” She shrugged “Back in his day just mentioning the subject was enough to give you a one way ticket to Azkaban.”

“But why?” Hermione asked.

The Transfiguration mistress sighed and leaned against her desk. “The Elders are – were - witches and wizards, our predecessors I suppose you would call them.” She paused for a moment. “Only, unlike us they have the ability to channel their magic without the use of a wand.”

“But certain witches and wizards can perform spells without use of a wand.” Hermione stated.

“Yes, very powerful and experienced ones can perform _a few_ spells without using their wands.” McGonagall replied. “But the Elders did not need wands _at all._ They were incredibly powerful and could live for millennia, not just a century.”

“That’s impossible.” Malfoy scoffed. “My father says it’s only a myth that witches and wizards can live for more than a century or two.”

“Well as it were your father doesn’t know everything that there is to know. His narrow mind wouldn’t allow it.” Glancing over her rectangular spectacles, the professor continued. “As I was saying, Elders were said to have lived for about five to six thousand years, although the oldest known Elder was rumoured to have been over thirty-thousand years old.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered to Harry. “They must have been nothing but wrinkles and bones.”

“Indeed Mr Weasley,” McGonagall said, causing Ron to turn red. “Now then, perhaps we could return to-“

“But Professor,” Harry spoke up. “Why would mentioning them get you thrown in Azkaban?” He’d heard other students, born into wizarding families, talk about that place. It sent a shiver down his spine.

She looked into his eyes, never once breaking her gaze as she said gravelly, “because the hatred that grew between us was so great, and so many lives were lost in the wars that followed, that acknowledging their existence meant you were a sympathiser with their cause. When the muggles began to burn those of magic, both sides sold each other out until only one side remained.” She looked away, her gaze sweeping across the room. “The Elders are supposedly dead. But that doesn’t mean that the memory of them doesn’t still leave a bitter after taste.”

There was silence all around as they took in their teacher’s words, however Harry still had dozens of questions burning in the back of his throat. Professor McGonagall regarded the clock on the wall and cussed under her breath, rolling her eyes. “Well since we are approaching the end of the lesson, which you have so conveniently wasted, you’ll all be pleased to know that extra homework will be set to compensate for this.” Her words were met with universal groans.

By the time Harry left the classroom, he was sure that his arms would snap off from the sheer weight of the assignments and essays that had been set. He felt a slight resentment build as he watched Hermione cheerful make her way to their next lesson, already reading through one of the assignment tasks.

“Bloody hell,” Ron whined, struggling under the weight of the papers.

 _My sentiments exactly,_ Harry thought moodily.


	10. Trolls At Halloween (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like a little Halloween spirit to cure a bad mood. Though the fun can soon turn into something much more frightening...

His day hadn’t improved much after their Transfiguration class. They’d had Potions next, with Snape being exceptionally sour, especially to Harry.

“He’s only sore because McGonagall convinced Dumbledore to let you on the Quidditch team.” Ron whispered after the professor had pointed out every flaw with Harry’s potion for the whole class to see. He’d been relieved when the lesson had ended and was looking forward to Weaponry, which he enjoyed almost as much as Defence against the Dark Arts, or DADA as he’d heard some second years call it. Professor Quirrell wasn’t quite the best teacher in the world, but at least he wasn’t as liberal with taking house points as some of the other professors were.

To say Harry had been looking forward to Weaponry wasn’t a lie as such. He _had_ been looking forward to it. That was until he’d set foot into the classroom and seen the expression on Professor Amora’s face that he began to realise that this wasn’t going to be the fun lesson he had envisioned.

He didn’t know what had happened, but Amora’s mood seemed to be even sourer than Snape’s at his worst. She’d stormed around the classroom and glowered at anyone unfortunate enough to catch her eye. No one had been safe from her scorn as she picked off each student one by one.

“Your posture is wrong,” she snapped, her hand twitching over the hilt of the blade that hung from her hip, as though she were itching to use it. “You’ll leave yourself wide open for attack.”

Eventually she’d made her way over to Harry and towered over him, scrutinising his grip on the blade. “Are you going to fight with it or strangle it?” She drawled. For the first time Harry realised just how tall the woman was. Hell, even Dumbledore had to look up slightly when she wore heals.

Or maybe it was just the terrifying expression that made him feel so small.

“A sword should be an extension of the arm. If your hand aches, Mr Goyle, then you’re holding it too tight. No you won’t break the hilt, you’ll break your wrist.”

And then when Seamus Finnigan made a comment about the unusual smell in the room, Professor Amora exploded, threatening to put them all in detention if they continued to disrupt her lesson.

“Bloody hell, what was wrong with her?” Ron grumbled as they left the classroom, nursing the blisters that were forming on his hand. It wasn’t until much later that they discovered a third-year Hufflepuff had let of a Dragon-dung bomb in the Weaponry classroom and Professor Amora had spent three hours that morning cleaning all the surfaces by hand and wasn’t best pleased.

Charms last had not been quite as abysmal as the other lessons. They had been learning how to make objects fly by using the Wingardium Leviosa charm. Though who ever thought it would be a good idea to put Ron with Hermione together clearly hadn’t been thinking.

“It’s Wing-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa, not Leviosar.” He’d sneered to a group of their friends, who sniggered along with him. Harry felt slightly guilty as he watched Hermione run off in tears. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as Ron practically dragged him to the Great Hall in time for the Halloween feast.

“This is brilliant,” Ron managed to say, his mouth stuffed with food. As he spoke, crumbs sprayed out over the table.

Harry looked around the hall, taking in the sight of the bustling room. The festivity reminded him so much of his very first night at Hogwarts. He waved at Hagrid who was making his way up to the teacher’s table, seemingly enjoying the festive atmosphere. Even Professor Amora’s mood seemed to have improved greatly, and Harry was quite surprised when she smiled at him whilst taking her seat. He watched as McGonagall said something to Amora that caused her burst into laughter.

“At least she’s in a better mood now,” Ron nodded towards the professor and Harry hummed in agreement. He glanced around again noticing Hermione was yet to join the Gryffindor table. He was about to suggest that they go find her and apologise, when the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and Professor Quirrell stumbled in, tripping over his robes as he lurched forward, whimpering and stuttering in utter terror. He seemed to be heading towards the teacher’s table but only managed get about half way.

The entire hall fell into a hushed silence as they stared at the cowering man in confusion. Professor Dumbledore had arisen from his seat and Amora shared a look with Professor Snape. They all waited for him to speak.

“Troll in the dungeon,” Professor Quirrell cried. “Just thought you’d like to know.” And he collapsed in a dead faint.


	11. Trolls At Halloween (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes an army to defeat a mountain troll (or rather, three first year students that have no clue what they're doing)

“Troll in the dungeon!”

The anarchy that followed this simple statement was enough to give Albus a headache for a week. Almost immediately the students dissolved into a mass of frenzied panic and the staff seemed so shocked that they simply sat there, staring at the unconscious professor Quirrell. Then Minerva jumped up (dear, brave Minerva) and tried to calm the panicked students of her house, closely followed by the other heads of houses trying to do the same with theirs, however to no avail. Time to take action, he thought.

“Silence.” His voice boomed over the noise, almost immediately causing a hush to descend over the hall. His mind was almost immediately formulating a plan. “Madame Pomfrey, would you kindly take Professor Quirrell to the infirmary.” The poor man would not be much use in this state. “And if Heads of Houses and prefects could escort the students back to their dorms.”

He commanded the remaining teachers to follow him to the dungeons. “Olenna, you will search the rest of the castle. If the troll gets past us then I need someone to ensure it does not reach the rest of the castle. Take Severus with you.” Albus watched as the weapons mistress leapt from her chair, a sword in hand (Merlin knows where she got it from), and sprinted from the hall, the potions master closely following.

He waited until they were out of sight before he made to leave the hall. Most of the students had been moved towards the stairs and he had to push his way through to get to the dungeons. For a moment his eyes caught his deputy headmistress and she silently held his gaze, silently communicating with him what could not be said. He was briefly aware of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley deep in discussion, paying no notice to the rest of the students and seemingly moving in the opposite direction to everyone else, but he had no time to focus on this before he heard the distinctive roar of the troll and the sounds of a heated battle.

“That doesn’t sound like its coming from the dungeon.” Madame Hooch said, as they heard Olenna scream to fall back. With new found vigour he fought his way through the students towards where the sounds had come from. He noticed Minerva fighting her way to his side, wand already drawn. “Minerva, you must stay here, the students…”

“Don’t be ridiculous Albus,” she snapped. “I’m coming with you, the prefects will get the remaining students to their dorms and you’ll need as much help as you can.” He couldn’t deny that Minerva was a quick and skilled duellist. He learned as much in the fight against Grindelwald. Another scream from Olenna, this one of pain, silenced any more arguments he had.

They’d travelled along the corridors, and eventually encountered Olenna and Severus. “What happened?” He demanded as he took in their battered appearances.

“We were taken by surprise,” Olenna replied. There was blood down the side of her face, coming from a wound above her left eye. A large gash had rendered her right arm useless and her clothes were torn and battered. She was supporting Severus who was looking slightly better, with only a group of gashes on his calf. “That’s not the only thing,” her voice was grave. “I tried to hold the thing off but it was no good. Everything I tried was useless. Whilst I was with the troll, Severus went to you-know-what and-.” A scream cut of her words.

“That’s coming from the girl’s lavatory.” Minerva gasped, her eyes widening. “There’s a student in there.”

Olenna cursed under her breath and followed Minerva, who had already made it to the end of the corridor, in the direction of the commotion. Albus was quick to follow, with Severus lagging behind slightly, and he felt bile rise in his throat as he heard loud crashes and more screams. He felt panic like he hadn’t felt in almost half a century. _Please let us get there in time. Don’t let it happen. Not again…_

As they rounded the corner, there was one final crash followed by silence. Only the sound of gushing water could be heard as they approached the door. “Albus…” Minerva gasped, her eyes betrayed the same fear he was feeling inside. He strode forward, wand poised, and burst into the room.

The sight before him was almost enough to make him keel over from a stroke.

Lying unconscious on the floor was the enormous, twelve-foot tall mountain troll, its gnarled and misshapen club lying discarded upon the floor in a puddle of water. Albus felt his robes rustle from the breeze caused by the creature’s horrendous snores. Beside him, he heard Minerva splutter, the sharp witted witch rendered speechless by what they were seeing. He turned to see Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and, much to his surprise, Hermione Granger stood beside the troll, looking anywhere but in the direction of the professors.

Instantly, Minerva went into teacher mode, sternly reprimanding the boys for attempting to tackle the troll on their own. Did they not realise how dangerous it was? They could have got themselves killed. They not only endangered themselves but Miss Granger as well. As Minerva continued her reprimand, Albus observed the girl in question over his half-moon spectacles, watching as she sheepishly bit her lip, and her face became gradually redder and redder.

Somehow, he felt that Miss Granger had more to do with this than Minerva gave her credit for.

He watched as the girl stepped forward and bravely admitted her fault to the witch she had already come to respect and admire so much. He felt a twinge of pity at the hurt in the young girl’s eyes at the disapproving glare she received from her mentor. Perhaps he’d speak with Minerva later.

With house points deducted and a glare from their Head of House that would no doubt haunt them for weeks, Albus decided that they’d probably had enough excitement for one day and suggested that they return to their dormitories (if only so they weren’t still around when the troll came to). He moved to stand between Olenna and Minerva, strategically placing them between the students and unconscious troll. As the trio were leaving, Harry glanced up at his teachers, stopping short as he glanced at the weapons mistress.

“Professor,” he began hesitantly. “Are you alright?”

Albus turned in time to see Olenna nod in reply, and was horrified when her legs buckled beneath her, sending her tumbling to the floor. Moving quickly, he managed to catch her before she hit the ground, supporting the weight of her limp head in his hands. He regarded her chalky face, her eyes unfocused and hazy, and wondered how he had not noticed this before.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, her voice heavy and slurred. “Just took a slight knock. That’s all.”

As she said this Albus felt a dampness on the hand that was cradling her head. He removed it to find that it was stained a deep crimson colour. “We have to get her to Poppy.” He said, both Minerva and Hermione gasping at the sight of the blood. “Can you walk?” He questioned, and at her affirmative hum, he slowly helped the professor stand, however she swayed dangerously which resulted in him having to support her weight.

“’S what I tried to tell you.” Her voice sounded feverish and confused. “Tried to tell you. Someone came up behind me. Was fighting the troll and someone was there. Thought it was Sev. They caught me off, thought it was Sev.” If Albus hadn’t have been holding her, she would have collapsed again. He was sure he could hear the light drip as tiny droplets hit the stone tiles.

“We’ll get you to Poppy,” he said soothingly, unconsciously aware of Harry staring at Severus, and him shuffling his dark robes to cover his legs. “I’ll take her.” Severus said, his eyes darting to the horror stricken students. “Someone needs to deal with the troll, and besides,” he drawled. “I can make sure that Potter and his friends make it to their dorm _safely._ ”

Although he’d rather not have the students seeing their professor in such an injured state, allowing them to wait around the troll was out of the question. He couldn't allow the troll to remain unguarded in case it awoke and escaped, and for safety reasons he would rather not have any professor left alone with the troll. He nodded to Severus and carefully passed Olenna to him. Watching the potions master rearrange his grip on her made him realise, Olenna had not been supporting Severus when he’d encountered them in the corridor, but rather it had been the other way round. _How could he not have noticed?_

The next few minutes passed him by in a blur. He and Minerva worked quickly to bind the troll, with Minerva transfiguring the troll’s club into rope that they were able to magically tie around the creature. He was sure that Minerva had tried to speak to him in this time, but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t long until they were joined by the other professors, who he had sent ahead to secure the dungeons. He quickly gave them an overview of what happened, Olenna and Severus were injured, and orders to get the troll off of the sight. He almost felt guilty for leaving them with such a task, but he had to check something.

As he walked briskly down the corridor, he became aware of the fact that there was a fine trail of red droplets, splattered along the floor. He felt even more ashamed of himself. How had he failed to notice that a member of his staff had been injured? How had a troll even managed to get past the wards to injure a member of his staff in the first place?

He was so preoccupied, that he almost didn’t hear the footsteps that were gradually getting nearer and nearer. Fortunately, his time during the war against Grindelwald had sharpened his senses and he quickly spun round, wand raised, before his pursuer had a chance to react.

For a moment he thought perhaps a Death Eater would be less terrifying to face as opposed to the raised eyebrow he received from the green eyed witch, who was not in the least bit amused at having a wand thrust in her face.

“Minerva,” he let out a sigh. “What are you doing?”

She pursed her lips and continued to glare at the wand until he lowered it to his side. “I could ask you the same thing.” Her voice deliberate and crisp.

“I have to see.” He replied simply, turning on his heel and continuing on his path, without even waiting to see if she’d follow.

“To see what?” He didn’t have to wait. He knew she’d be too curious not to follow. After all, her animagus was a cat. She had to jog slightly to keep up with him.

They arrived where Olenna and Severus had confronted the troll. He could tell but the rubble of shattered columns and the lack of figures in the paintings that this was the right place. “As you know, there are ancient wards around Hogwarts that protects the school from any external dangers. During the time of the Founders, there were many attacks from creatures and those who wanted to do the school and its inhabitants harm. So to prevent this, they placed enchantments that kept the school hidden and protected.” He explained, searching through the rubble that was scattered across the ground.

“Yes I know all this,” Minerva replied, pausing in between casting the _Reparo_ charm and glancing over her rectangular spectacles at him. “I have read ‘ _Hogwarts: A History’._ Several times in fact.”

“Because of these charms,” Albus continued. “This means that it is virtually impossible for anyone or anything to enter the grounds undetected.” Something discarded carelessly behind a large fragment of stone caught his attention.

“I’ll take it this is to do with how the troll got in.” Minerva said, abandoning her attempt at cleaning in order to see what was preoccupying the headmaster so much.

“Precisely,” Albus said, moving some of the smaller stones away with his hands. When he’d cleared enough away, he reached down to pick up the object he’d been searching for. “So if it wasn’t an external factor that allowed the troll to enter Hogwarts, then it must have been an internal one.” He lifted up the object to reveal a chunk of wood, around the size of a cricket bat, the end of it covered with blood. Albus shared a grave look with his deputy.

“It means someone let the troll in.”


	12. A Trip to the Infirmary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Ron and Hermione visit Professor Amora and discover what really happened on the night of the trolls attack, whilst receiving a warning from the Weapon's Professor...

A tense atmosphere descended over Hogwarts in the days following the incident with the troll. Although the creature had been removed without any more damage, it still seemed to hover, ever present just in the back of everyone’s minds. Somehow, everyone came to know that he was the one to defeat the troll, and whilst many seemed amazed and in awe of this, there were a few that had begun to give him a wide berth.

“A first-year shouldn’t be able to defeat a mountain troll,” he’d heard one student whisper insidiously. “It’s just not natural.”

One student who hadn’t continued to avoid him was Hermione Granger, who had become fast friends with the boys who had saved her life. In fact, Harry found that having the smartest girl in their year was quite helpful, not only in lessons but also when trying to figure out other mysteries that Hogwarts had to offer.

“It must have something to do with what is beneath that trap door,” she whispered as they were sat in Transfiguration. They were careful not to draw attention to themselves.

“Snape must be trying to steal whatever is inside it.” Harry replied.

“Yeah you saw his leg,” Ron hissed. “There’s no way he got _that_ from a troll.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “He must have attacked Professor Amora. She wouldn’t have been expecting it and wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Probably hoped the troll would finish her off so there’d be no witnesses.”

Fortunately, Professor Amora had survived the attack, and was well on the way to recovering. It had been a close call though. She had been barely conscious by the time they had arrived at the hospital wing and for a moment Harry had thought she’d bled out. Snape was quick to pass his injured colleague over to the matron, and was about to escort the Gryffindors back to their dormitory as Amora was placed in one of the vacant beds.  

“And just where do you think you’re going?” The medi-witch demanded, hands on her hips and glaring impressively at the potions master.

“To escort these _students,”_ he sneered at Harry and his friends. “Back to their dormitory before they get into any more trouble.”

She paused her examinations and glanced at Snape, her eyebrow raised. “Not with that leg you’re not.” She’d noticed his limp almost as soon as he’d walked in, although he’d tried to hide it. “Take a seat. I’ll see to it once I’ve stabilised her.”

Harry had watched as Snape had glanced over at them and then hobbled closer to Madam Pomfrey. “Perhaps this would be best conducted without the students here?” He leant closer and murmured so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear. “The last thing we need is for this to get out. It would cause mass panic.”

Madam Pomfrey took in their dishevelled appearance. She seemed to agree with Snape to an extent as she waved her wand and a screen appeared, shielding the unconscious weapons professor from their view. “I’m worried how long she’ll last if I delay treatment,” She whispered in the same low voice. She then turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione and addressed them. “Can I trust you to return to your dorms without an escort?” When they nodded, she seemed satisfied. “Good.”

Snape looked like he wanted to protest but one harsh look from Madam Pomfrey was enough to silence him. The trio were quick to leave after this, worried that she would change her mind and insist that Professor Snape would accompany them.

The following day, Dumbledore announced that the troll had been removed and that a full investigation was taking place to find out how it had got in, but it was nothing to worry about. He also informed them that all Weaponry classes were cancelled for the rest of the week as Professor Amora had been taken ill, and that a study period would take place in its place with a designated teacher. Rumours spread and it was quickly, albeit quietly, established that Amora falling ill on the day after the troll’s attach was just too much of a coincidence.

That had been three days ago and nothing more had been said on the matter, though it didn’t do anything to quell Harry’s curiosity. “But why risk being caught. I’m sure she would have noticed if he suddenly disappeared.”

“Probably hit her and then went to the trap door.” Hermione said, thinking carefully. “There is only one person who would know.”

“Who?” Ron said, lowering his voice and wincing slightly as Professor McGonagall glared at them from across the room.

“Professor Amora of course.”

“And how do you intend to do that,” Ron scoffed “she’s still in the hospital wing, remember?” In fact, from what Harry had heard the professor was yet to regain consciousness.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was always one step ahead. “I overheard Professor McGonagall talking with Professor Flitwick before. He said that Amora woke up last night. McGonagall said she was going to visit her tonight after her last lesson. And I suggest we do the same.”

“What with old McGonagall?” Ron cried, once again attracting the attention of the professor in question.

“Why not,” Hermione hissed quickly as their Head of House walked towards them. “If we go with her, then Madam Pomfrey won’t turn us away.”

“That’s _after_ we manage to convince McGonagall-“

“Since you’re spending more time gossiping,” Professor McGonagall said, having pounced upon them with stealth fitting for her animagus. “I’ll assume that you have mastered the spell and can demonstrate how to do this _perfectly.”_ She glared at the trio over the top of her rectangular spectacles and pressed her lips into a firm line. Harry gulped.

Somehow he got the feeling that they wouldn’t be visiting the hospital wing any time soon.

Clearing her throat, Hermione pointed her wand at the small white mouse that was unsuspectingly cleaning its whiskers. She clearly spoke the spell and motioned with her wand, turning the small rodent into an ornate snuffbox. This seemed to satisfy McGonagall and she pointed out the correct technique needed to perform a successful transfiguration as the class took notes.

They didn’t get a chance to continue their discussion after this, waiting until the lesson ended to put their plan into action. As the rest of the class scurried out, eager to leave the last lesson of the day, the trio cautiously approached Professor McGonagall, who was attempting to sort her already immaculate desk, gathering together her marking for the evening.

Observing her carefully, Harry noticed that her movements appeared hurried.

“Professor…” Hermione began hesitantly.

“Oh,” she said, surprised to see she was not alone. She recovered quickly. “How may I help you?”

“We were wondering…well we’d heard that Professor Amora woke up yesterday.”

A sleek black eyebrow raised and McGonagall observed them suspiciously. She glanced quickly around the room before answering them in hushed tones. “Professor Amora’s situation is…sensitive. You understand that discretion is something of great importance.” She paused. “A troll getting not only into the grounds, but in the school itself is enough to cause concerns amongst the Governors. If they found out that a professor had been injured as well…” she trailed off, but Harry didn’t need her to finish to understand what she meant.

“We haven’t told anyone.” Harry said firmly, and McGonagall nodded.

“If you’re going to visit her, could we come with you?” Hermione said, faltering slightly under the professor’s distrustful glare. “We saw the injuries and, well, we wanted to make sure she’s alright.”

For a moment, Harry thought she was going to refuse. However, she gave a curt nod and agreed. “Very well. I suppose after witnessing what you did it’s only natural that you’d be worried.” She scooped up a pile of papers and gestured for them to follow her. As they made their way down the partially deserted corridors towards the hospital wing, the older witch moved at such a pace that they had to jog to keep up with her.

“She’s worried,” Hermione whispered as they approached the heavy oak door of the infirmary. “There’s clearly something that they’re not telling us.” Harry agreed but said nothing as McGonagall paused before opening the door.

“Now I know I don’t need to remind you that this is an infirmary, and that the people in here are trying to recover, so please try to bare that in mind before you go charging in there like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons.” She said, directing her firm gaze at Ron who, not realising the witch had stopped, had nearly crashed into her.

Despite her warnings, most of the beds were empty. There was a first year who had somehow managed to give themselves oozing boils after a failed potion lesson, and a third year who had fallen from his broom during a flying lesson, but apart from that the room seemed fairly deserted.

In the far corner of the room there was a screen that quartered off one of the beds and it was there, Harry guessed, that Professor Amora was recovering. As they approached the screen, they could hear what sounded like an argument between the professor and medi-witch.

“Will you stop fussing me? I’m fine, I’ll be even better once I’m out of here.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, if you’d just let me examine you this would be,” at this point there was a yelp of pain and an irritable huff. “That serves you right. Would you keep still?”

McGonagall rolled her eyes as a small smirk flickered across her lips and pulled the screen back slightly so that they could see into it. As Harry peered in, he could see Professor Amora was sat upright, her head tilted forward, enabling Madam Pomfrey to examine the wound on the base of her skull. McGonagall cleared her throat to announce their arrival and the pair hastily looked up, Amora briefly closing her eyes her face contorting in pain at the brisk movement.

“Ah, Minerva,” Poppy huffed. “Perhaps you could convince this stubborn woman that I need to check her head before I discharge her.”

Harry was sure her heard McGonagall mutter something along the lines of ‘I’ve been telling her that for years’ as she walked over to the chair that was placed next to the bed and placed her papers down on it. Amora glared at her and gave a sarcastic laugh, which once again caused a sharp pain to shoot through her head. Madam Pomfrey gave a long suffering sigh and tried once again to examine her patient.

“How are you feeling?” McGonagall asked as she came to stand beside the medi-witch, watching as she diligently removed the bandage and checked the stitching.

“Never better,” Amora replied with as much false cheer as she could muster without giving herself a headache. “Especially knowing the mountain of paper work I’ll have to do and extra lessons that’ll need to be arranged for my O.W.L and N.E.W.T classes.”

“Well I know what will cheer you up,” McGonagall said, beckoning the trio to enter. “They were worried, and I thought it would be a nice idea for you to see that you’re lessons aren’t falling apart in your absence.”

Hermione nudged Harry forward into the small space and followed, dragging Ron subtly along beside her. “Hello Professor,” she said, smiling. “We came to see how you were doing.”

A slight smirk formed on Amora’s face as she silently regarded the students before her. Her penetrating gaze made Harry feel somewhat nervous. Now they were in for it. How were they supposed to ask about the attack with McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey there? It made the chance of them getting any answers even less likely. “Getting better,” the professor said slowly, as though she were deliberating her words carefully. “I hope the lessons haven’t been too disrupted by my absence. Bloody troll packs one hell of a punch.” At Madam Pomfrey’s worried shushing, Professor Amora rolled her eyes. “Oh please Poppy. They already know what happened, they were there. Well, there in the aftermath. No point closing the stable door once the horse has bolted.”

Harry was, not for the first time, relieved that Hermione had tagged along with them as she began discussing what they’d done during Amora’s absence, and reassured her that they had not picked up any weapons without, as Amora referred to it, a ‘properly trained expert’. If Hermione hadn’t have been there, he and Ron would have probably awkwardly blundered their way through the conversation and given the game away, and although they were worried about their professor, they needed to find out some answers as to why Snape would want to get whatever was hidden under the trap door.

During the conversation, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey left to discuss something that Harry guessed they did not want the trio to overhear. “Now not too much longer,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sternly. “Professor Amora needs to rest.” Once she’d turned her back, Amora pulled a face and stuck her tongue out. Harry couldn’t help but laugh slightly at this, which caused Amora to refocus her attention on him.

“Now then,” she said, sternly looking at the trio one by one. “You may be able to fool Professor McGonagall, but I’m not so easily swayed. You’ve come to ask me about the attack.” When they tried to protest, she simply held her hand up to silence them. “Although I am grateful and touched that you came to see me, I’m perfectly aware of the fact that you are no doubt curious as to how this happened.” She gestured to the back of her head. “Dumbledore believes keeping you all in ignorance is what’s safest at this point, but I disagree.”

“Why would he do that?” Harry asked, a sense of dread filling the pit of his stomach.

Amora sighed, clearly torn, and looked over to make sure her colleagues were out of earshot. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this but I’m sure I can trust you not to gossip.” She sighed again before continuing. “When I was fighting the troll, I thought I saw someone approach. They came from behind me so I didn’t see who they were but I assumed it was Snape. He was sent with me to check the troll hadn’t moved elsewhere in the school. Anyway, I thought it was him and thought nothing of it, but the next thing I knew something had hit me in the back of the head and I was sprawled out on the floor. I saw someone running away and then everything went black. When I woke up, Severus was helping me up and he said that he arrived in time to stop the troll from finishing me, but in that time it had escaped.”

“So you don’t know who it was.” Hermione asked. Amora shook her head but Harry felt anger boil from within me.

“Isn’t it obvious,” he hissed, careful not to attract any attention. “It was Snape, it has to have been. He’s trying to steal whatever is on the third floor.”

“I don’t know what you already know, or what has led you to thin conclusion, however I know for a fact that Professor Snape is not trying to steal it. He’s one of us who’s trying to protect the damn thing.” That was the second time Harry had heard that and still didn’t understand what it meant.

“What is being protected though?”

“No,” Amora shook her head again, worriedly looking around. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why did you tell us this?” Harry said.

The professor sighed and fixed them with a stern look. “As a warning. Stop digging. If they are willing to attack a teacher, I can’t see them thinking twice about taking on a student. We can manage this without you endangering yourselves in the process. Forget about it now and concentrate on your studies. This is neither your concern nor your fight.” From the gap in the screens, they could see Madam Pomfrey giving them a look from across the room that told them that their time was up. “Go on now, you don’t want to miss dinner.” She grabbed Harry’s hand as he prepared to leave, halting his movements. “Please be careful, not everyone in this world is a friend, Harry.” Her words haunted him as he left the infirmary, closely followed by Ron and Hermione.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered. “And I thought Hogwarts was supposed to be safe.”

“He’s got them all fooled,” Harry said determinedly. “We have to find out what Fluffy’s guarding and stop Snape from getting it.”

“No, Harry, no,” Hermione cried. “You heard what Professor Amora said. Even if he was trying to, what could we hope to do that Professor Amora, or McGonagall or even Dumbledore couldn’t do? Leave it to them, they know what they’re doing. And besides, you have your first Quidditch game coming up and you need to be ready for it.”

“You were all for finding out what was going on not too long ago,” Ron exclaimed.

She nodded and fixed them both with a troubled stare. “Professor Amora’s right. If someone is that desperate to get their hands on whatever it is, then we don’t know what they might be capable of.”

Harry didn’t quite agree with her, but he relented in his quest for now. No good would come from falling out about it. With Professor Amora’s warning still hanging in the air around them, they slowly made their way towards the Great Hall, already hearing the chattering and laughter.

None of them noticed the dark figure that lurked in the shadows, listening to their every word.

 

* * *

 

Olenna continued to stare at the doorway from her bed long after they’d gone. She was so consumed in her thoughts that she almost didn’t register that Minerva was standing at the foot of her bed. “They’re going to search for it Minerva,” she said in a low voice, not looking at the witch. “They’ll go after it and put themselves in harm’s way.”

It took a moment for Minerva to realise what she was talking about. “They won’t get very far. They’ll give up before long, you’ll see.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“No one knows where it is, Albus made sure of it.”

“I know where I it is,” Olenna snapped, finally turning to face the witch, fire in her eyes. “You know, and Hagrid, and Filius, and Pomona, and Quirrell, and Severus. We all know because we all set up a trap to keep that damn stone safe.”

“Keep your voice down,” Minerva hissed, moving hastily to sit on the bed beside Olenna.

“What I’m saying is there’s eight of us who know. What if someone of an _unsavoury_ nature were to find out?”

“Everyone who is protecting the stone Albus trusts and they would never betray him.” Minerva stated firmly.

“Someone has Minerva,” Olenna whispered. “You and I know that the troll and my attack was no coincidence. Someone’s trying to get the stone.”

“But who would give away its location? They know its importance. If a follower of You-Know-Who were to find it…”

“I don’t know. I don’t know who it was or who is trying to get it but we need to be careful.” Olenna looked once again towards the door. “I fear that if Harry and his friends find it, they may think that they’re helping but will end up doing more harm than good.”


	13. Dark Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams can hold deeper meanings, though what those are cannot always be seen so clearly...

Harry knew as soon as he felt the oppressive darkness clawing at his throat that he was dreaming again. He felt a sense of panic as he tried to move his limbs, only to find that they were too heavy, all his energies seemed to have been drained from him. He was overcome with a sense of familiar dread.

He’d had this dream before.

Suddenly there was a high pitched scream. It was so loud that Harry was sure if he could turn his head, he’d find someone stood beside him, wailing in his ear. As the screams intensified, there was a sharp pain in his chest, like someone had pierced his heart with a red hot dagger, and a fire had erupted from this. He was sure that there must have been flames spreading across his body.

As soon as it had begun, the pain faded and he could hear nothing but silence. The invisible bonds disappeared and his body feel to the ground. Catching his breath, he glanced frantically around him, desperately trying to find a way to escape this nightmare. He just had to wake up.

In the distance he spotted a figure amongst the shadows, lying in the swirling mist, her bright red gown a beacon in the darkness. As Harry moved closer to the woman, he realised that it was not a gown that he saw stretching out around her, but rather that she was lying in a pool of blood. Her head was turned away from him so he could not see their face, but from his position he could see a deep gash in her chest, right above where the heart was positioned.

He ran towards her, intending to see if he could help in some way, to see if she was still alive, however the faster he ran the further away the woman became until he could no longer see her. He called out but no one answered. And then he heard it; the steady rumble of thunder from the distance. He stumbled backwards at the intense flash of light, momentarily blinded. When he recovered his senses he looked up to see a large misty shape hovering in front of him. It radiated a soft silver light that, compared to the surrounding darkness was blinding. As he studied it more closely, gradually growing accustomed to its light, Harry realised that the mist was in fact a dragon. It bowed its head gracefully towards Harry and then in another blinding flash of light it was gone.

Where it had had been, another creature emerged through the smoke. Its coat and main melted into the darkness and shimmered slightly as the lion approached him. Snarling, it fixed Harry with terrifying glare, its eyes as black as coal.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’re alright Harry?” Hermione asked for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

Ron speared at another sausage. “He said he’s fine ‘Mione, leave him be.”

“Well he’s clearly not,” she huffed, sending a glare in his direction. “If you paid more attention then you would see that.”

Harry, sensing an argument brewing, decided to intervene. “I’m fine, really. I just had a weird dream.”

“What was it about?” She was persistent.

Sighing, Harry re-laid the details of his dream. “I’ve had it before,” he concluded. “On the first night at Hogwarts, but it was different this time. Like it was trying to tell me something.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Dumbledore about this,” Hermione whispered, leaning forward.

Ron snorted. “What for?”

“Because people sometimes have dreams that are actually premonitions of what’s to come. I read about it when I was in the library. Perhaps what you’re seeing is a warning. I mean you said you saw someone die-“

“I didn’t say they were dead,” Harry replied, a slight frown forming. “I don’t know if they were alive or dead, I couldn’t get close enough to see.”

“And the light you saw,” Hermione continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “It sounds like a Patronus.”

“A what?” Harry asked.

“A Patronus charm. It conjures a spirit guardian, that normally takes the form of an animal, and can be used to protect a witch or a wizard. They’re bloody hard to conjure though.” Ron said. At Hermione’s surprised look he shrugged his shoulders. “What? I once heard mum and dad talking about it. Said that people used it in the war against you-know-who when he got the Dementors on his side. And anyway that can’t be what Harry saw. I don’t know anyone who ever had a dragon Patronus and the biggest one produced was by Andros the Invincible and no one’s come close to it, let alone produce one bigger.”

“I don’t know what it meant,” Harry sighed. “But I don’t think it’s something that would concern Dumbledore.”

Hermione was about to protest, however Ron agreed with Harry. “Dumbledore’s probably got enough to worry about with the troll attack,” he reasoned. “And Harry’s got his first Quidditch match today. It’s probably just nerves.”

“Yeah, it was probably just nerves, messing with my head.” However even as Harry said this, he could shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe Hermione was right.


	14. In the Aftermath, Things Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch can bring out the best and the worst in a person, however when the worst happens, emotions run high and tempers flare. Not all friendships can survive the night...

Glancing between her two colleagues, Minerva felt her hands tremble slightly at the sombre expressions they wore upon their faces. Albus Dumbledore, a man who always had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his steps, no longer held this cheer, his shoulders slumping and his eyes dull and lifeless. Stood beside him was Olenna Amora, pale and cold she reminded Minerva of a statue from antiquity as she stood motionlessly, her rigid spine adding to her already impressive height. Her eyes were transfixed on the bed that where they had been stood around moments ago, however they had moved away, slunk back into to shadows so as not to awaken the slumbering figure that was bundled beneath the sheets. Minerva watched as her friend flinched at the sound of the headmaster’s sigh, deafening in the silence of the hour.

“The brooms are old, the amount of people who use them, it could have happened to anyone,” he spoke in a quite murmur.

“And yet it happens to him,” Olenna replied, not bothering to lower her voice from its normal volume.

Albus turned his head towards Minerva, his eyes shining with desperation. She answered his silent plea for help. “Perhaps it was another student. You know how competitive they get during Quidditch.”

Olenna’s face twisted into an ugly sneer before she managed to school her expression back into the emotionless look it had been. “If that were the case then you would be implying that Rolanda were becoming remiss in her duties,” she spoke in a smooth tone that reminded Minerva of the coldest steel. “I’ve never known Rolanda not to check a broom, and only a Gryffindor would have access to it, since it was his _own_ broom. I suppose we should be thankful someone set Severus on fire. It seemed to break the curse, Merlin knows how.”

Albus sighed and Minerva felt her heart ache. He hadn’t looked like that for a very long time. “As long as the stone’s safe-“

“But at what cost?” Olenna barked out a harsh laugh. “Someone is trying to get it, Albus. Someone’s got in and now our students are in danger. Your _most trusted friends_ have betrayed you.”

Albus’ patience finally snapped. “And who do you suggest it is Olenna? Filius? Pomona? Or perhaps Hagrid secretly covets the stone.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know who it is, but clearly they’re willing to harm students now in order to get it.”

“What would they achieve from harming Harry?” Minerva had to admit that she agreed with Albus’ statement. It did seem a bit random, even for Hogwarts.

“Because he’s been searching,” Olenna hissed, gesturing to the sleeping boy. “What if they thought he knew where it was? Or he might have seen something that he wasn’t supposed to.”

“Then we should question him about it,” Minerva stated. “If he knows something then the sooner we find out the sooner we can get to the bottom of who is trying to get the stone.”

“Even if he did, there’s no guarantee he’d tell us,” Albus sighed, shaking his head. “As he sees it, he’s broken the school rules. He’s unlikely to incriminate himself and his friends.”

“We can’t do nothing,” cried Minerva. Really that man could be so infuriating at times.

At that moment, Olenna moved for the first time, almost as though she had broken free from a deep trance. She moved to walk past them, pausing beside Albus. Leaning closer, she snarled in his ear, “Well you’d better decide something quickly. If you can’t keep it protected, without loss of life or limb, then get rid of it. Destroy it for all I care, but I won’t stand by and watch the minds of simple men be poisoned by its promise, not again.” She turned and left the room. “Just remember, I’ve sacrificed enough for you already.”

Minerva watched silently as Albus remained frozen, eyes locked on the sleeping form. “Come,” she whispered, tugging his sleeve gently. “You need to rest. It won’t do anyone any good if you make yourself ill.”

“She’s right, Minerva,” he whispered, without resisting her. His next words were said with such heaviness that she wondered how she did not collapse under the weight of them. “He’s returning Minerva. What we fear is going to come to pass.”

Swallowing, she tried to quell the fear that quivered in her stomach. “Well not tonight he isn’t. Let us worry about You-Know-Who in the morning, when we can approach it more rationally.”

Neither of them saw as the dark haired boy shifted, letting out a shuddering breath.


	15. Daytime Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the light of day, realisations are made and it becomes clear what must be done next...

The following morning, Harry could not wait to leave the hospital wing. He had tried to leave after Madam Pomfrey had used a simple charm to heal his broken arm, however she had insisted that he remain so she could monitor his condition overnight.

“I’ve known bones re-break if not monitored carefully,” she had said ominously, and he had decided that it was probably best not to argue. At least she had allowed Ron and Hermione to visit him for a while, but their visit could not last forever and soon he was left alone with the sounds of snoring patients and the gentle rustle of Madam Pomfrey’s skirts as she checked on each patient with great efficiency.

After many hours of silently listening to the sounds of the hospital wing, he’d eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He was unsure of how long he slept for, but he was suddenly awoken by the sound of hushed voices. He knew it was not Madam Pomfrey, for she had retired to her chambers that were adjacent to the hospital, and soon realised that the voices belonged to that of the Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Amora. Harry listened as they argued quietly and he tried to remain as still as he could so as not to alert his teachers, who clearly thought he was still asleep.

He was surprised to hear that they were arguing about him, both Amora and McGonagall expressing their concern about the incident. He couldn’t quite hear what they said next, but he was sure they mention Professor Snape’s name. There was a pause as Minerva shushed them and moved them away from him. Their voices faded slightly, but if he strained enough he could still make out what they were saying.

“As long as the stone’s safe-“

Harry’s ears perked. What stone were they talking about and why was it so important? Perhaps it had something to do with what Fluffy was guarding? Shortly after he was emitted to the hospital wing, Ron and Hermione had come to visit him with Hagrid in tow, and they had revealed their suspicions concerning Snape. Hagrid, in his attempt to reassure them, had accidently revealed that the large three-headed dog in fact belonged to _him,_ and was called Fluffy.

He remained still as they wondered why his broom acted as it did, speculating that perhaps he knew something he shouldn’t, however he knew this wasn’t true. He was just as mystified as to why he was the target of an attack, which he was now certain was deliberate. Judging by his professors’ words, he was certain that they thought so too, and the mention of Snape early made him think that perhaps they were coming to the same conclusion that he was.

Snape was trying to get into the trap door, and perhaps this mysterious stone was what he was after.

“Well you’d better decide something quickly. If you can’t keep it protected, without loss of life or limb, then get rid of it. Destroy it for all I care, but I won’t stand by and watch the minds of simple men be poisoned by its promise, not again. Just remember, I’ve sacrificed enough for you already.”

He heard footsteps growing fainter and fainter, signalling that someone had left the hospital wing. He listened to the remainder of the conversation, and hearing only Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall’s voice, he assumed that it was Amora who had left moments before. Eventually they too left, their footsteps nothing more than a memory in the darkness, but their words remained, rattling around Harry’s mind as he lay there. Rolling over, he turned to lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Snape. An intruder. A stone. You-Know-Who. His mind was racing. He couldn’t process it all. Now he was surer than ever that it was Snape who was behind it all. After all, even Ron and Hermione had said that they had seen him trying to bewitch his broom. Well he was going to stop him, and the first step in doing this was to find out what this stone was, and why it was so important.

For the rest of the night he barely slept a wink, practically running from the hospital wing when Madam Pomfrey discharged him the following morning, satisfied his arm wouldn’t drop off any time soon. He hastily made his way towards the Grand Hall, eager to share what he had discovered with his friends. Scanning the room, he quickly spotted Ron and Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, slightly away from the few students who had decided to get an early start.

“Harry,” Hermione cried when she saw him approach them. “What are you doing here? We thought you’d still be in the hospital wing.”

“Madam Pomfrey let me leave a few minutes ago,” He replied as he took a seat.

Hermione’s brow crinkled as she tilted her head to the side and regarded him with a concerned expression. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be resting? It was quite a fall you took yesterday.”

“It was bloody brilliant, that’s what it was,” Ron exclaimed. “How many seekers catch a snitch on their first game? Then Harry goes and catches it in his mouth. Honestly mate, we all thought you were going to be sick.” Harry wasn’t sure what to make of Ron’s enthusiasm, but he knew that he meant well. He also couldn’t help but feel slightly proud at having helped his house with the Quidditch game.

“Well he was lucky it was just a broken arm and not something more serious,” Hermione huffed. “Harry, you could have been killed, this isn’t a laughing matter.”

“Look I know,” Harry said leaning forward, lowering his voice. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Last night, I overheard Dumbledore, McGonagall and Amora talking, they must have thought that I was asleep, but I heard them talking about the incident yesterday. I’m sure they mentioned Snape. Then they started talking about a stone and Dumbledore said it needed to be protected. I think it might have something to do with what Snape is trying to get hold of.”

“Why would Snape be interested in a rock?” Ron asked, looking at Harry as though he’d grown a second head.

“I don’t know, but Professor Amora seemed to be against it being here.” He quickly explained what he had heard the professors discussing.

“What does she mean again?” Hermione contemplated. “And what has she sacrificed for Dumbledore?”

“The stone holds the answers,” Harry stated. “We need to find out what it is so that we can stop Snape from taking it.”

Hermione looked sceptical. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea Harry. If Professor Amora knows that we’ve been looking into it, she’s going to be watching us closely. I can’t see her being too happy, _especially_ after she told us not to look for it.”

“’Mione’s right Harry,” Ron said, surprising both Hermione and himself. “If there’s one teacher you wouldn’t want to mess with, it’s her. Squib or not, she’s bloody terrifying. And according to Percy, since you were injured she’s been furious with Dumbledore.”

“And if there’s a divide amongst the teachers, then this stone, whatever it is, will be more vulnerable.”

But Harry wouldn’t be swayed. “Which is exactly why we can’t just leave it.” As his friends exchanged concerned looks, he continued. “If we could get enough proof, we might be able to convince Dumbledore of Snape’s plan, and prevent it from happening.”

Hermione sighed, still unsure. “Just gather proof.”

“Just gather proof.”

“And leave it to Dumbledore?”

“Unless there’s no other choice.”

“Harry!”

“Aren’t you even a little bit curious as well?”

Hermione coughed and blushed, looking fleetingly away. “Well maybe a little…” she mumbled. “But please be careful, we’ve got no idea what we’re getting ourselves into.”

“It’s Hogwarts,” Ron scoffed. “How bad can it be?”

Hermione quickly shushed him, and jerked her head in the direction of the doors. Harry turned his head slightly and saw Professor Amora enter. When he caught sight of her face, he could understand why Hermione had shushed them. Although it was unlikely that the professor had heard them, he didn’t want to risk it, and judging by the expression on her face she didn’t look like she was in the mood to simply turn the other way.

Her eyes were burning and her lips were pressed into a firm line. She didn’t even look in the Headmaster’s direction as she took her seat and he too looked like he was doing his best to ignore the foul mood of his colleague, a weary expression on his face. Professor McGonagall, sat in between the pair, rolled her eyes and sighed, clearly deciding that it would be best not to try and engage them in conversation.

“Hate to be in his position,” Ron muttered. Hermione nodded, and added, “Clearly their discussion became more heated than you thought, Harry. Harry?” She repeated when she got no reply.

Harry had stopped listening, instead watching as the owls flew into the hall delivering the morning post. As he continued to watch the creatures, he saw as they swooped past an empty and slightly larger chair at the teachers table, and was suddenly struck with an idea. “I know how we can find out more.” He said.

“How?”

“Who was it that brought Fluffy and allowed Dumbledore to use him as a guard dog?” Harry smirked, eyes gleaming with delight as he saw realisation dawn on their faces.

He knew exactly where they needed to go to find out more answers.


	16. Help from Hagrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, Hagrid is there to unwittingly answer any questions...

As soon as the final lesson of the day ended, Harry, Ron and Hermione all but ran in their eagerness to get to Hagrid’s hut. So much was their haste that they almost knocked over Professor Flitwick and then whilst mumbling their apologies, nearly walked through the Bloody Baron, whose sour expression was enough to leave them feeling somewhat shaken.

As they ran down the small dirt path leading to Hagrid’s hut, Harry noticed two figures emerging from the forest just behind the stone building. He was instantly able to recognise Hagrid from his large and imposing stature, and as they got closer he was able to see that the figure beside him was that of Professor Amora. They were speaking earnestly, in hushed tones, with Hagrid making large and frantic gestures with his hands. The trio shared a look of bewilderment as they slowed their pace and quietened their steps, trying to catch what was being said.

“We’ll just have to keep an eye on the situation, perhaps ask the centaurs to be on the lookout as well?” Amora said tapping her nails, the only outward sign of any apprehension she felt.

Hagrid fidgeted uncomfortably, tugging slightly at his sleeve. “I dunno ‘bout this,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’ we tell Professor Dumbledore?”

“In the morning,” Amora replied calmly. “I’ll look more into it and bring it to him when we know for sure there’s the chance that Hogwarts has a threat.”

At the professor’s words, Hagrid let out an almighty snort. “Chance o’ a threat? Chance o’ a threat, o’ course there’s a chance o’ a bloody threat! Yeh saw what happened ter that unicorn, ain’t many creatures that can do that damage. Dark creatures are roamin’ that forest, ain’t no mistakin-“

“Mr Potter,” Professor Amora said, noticing they were no longer alone. “Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, may I ask what you’re doing out at this time, and so close to the forest that you _know_ you’re not supposed to enter.” As the trio sheepishly looked down, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corner of the Weapon’s Mistress’ mouth, however it was so brief that he couldn’t be sure. “I will presume that you are visiting Hagrid in which case I shall let it slide.”

They murmured their thank you’s, though for what Harry wasn’t entirely sure, and Amora nodded her head and made to leave. “I’m sure I can trust you to return to the castle well before curfew.” She said as she walked past them. “Good night Hagrid.”

“Night Olenna.” Hagrid replied, as she covered her head with the hood of her cloak and disappeared towards the castle. He turned happily to the trio. “I’m glad yeh came ter visit. I was beginin’ ter think you’d forgotten all abou’ me.” He laughed as he led them into his modest home. Fang lazily lifted his head as he watched his master bustling about the small kitchen area, and thumped his tail happily as he noticed that they had guests. He moved himself to where the trio were sat around the oversized table and rested his slobbering jowl on a rather disgruntled Ron’s lap, large droplets of saliva soaking into the boy’s cloak.

“We wouldn’t forget about you Hagrid,” Hermione replied cheerfully, though Harry noticed the wary look she sent in the direction of his infamous rock cakes.

“Well I’m glad to hear it,” the giant man beam behind his bushy beard, placing down the cups for their tea. “So how are yeh? Studies goin’ well?” They sat and discussed the excitement of Harry’s first Quidditch game, as well as the more mundane, everyday things that had happened to them. Eventually, Harry plucked up the nerve to ask about what they had witnessed as they had approached the hut. “Hagrid, why were you and Professor Amora in the Forbidden Forest?” He waited as Hagrid spluttered, frantically dabbing tea from his beard with a large spotted hankie.

“Oh tha’,” he said, shifting slightly, his eyes darting to the side as a blush rose from beneath his beard. “It’s nothin’ important. Jus’ had a bit o’ trouble with some o’ the creatures that live in the forest, thought she might be able ter help.”

“Why not Professor Kettleburn?” Surely the Professor of the Care of Magical Creatures would have been a better choice. Even if he was missing a few parts.

“We I didn’ like ter disturb ‘im,” Hagrid mumbled. “And when Professor Amora heard, well, she was very keen to find out what was causing the trouble. Got a way with animals, she has, what with ‘er heritage and all.” He suddenly gulped a massive intake of air and clamped his mouth shut.

“You mean because she’s half faery?” Harry asked, glancing at Ron and Hermione.

“Yeah…that’s it,” Hagrid replied and for a moment he was almost sure that Hagrid looked relieved. _Obviously he thought we didn’t know about Professor Amora being part faery,_ Harry thought.

“It would make sense,” Hermione agreed. “After all, faeries share a bond with most wild creatures, and if she’s a half-blood, then it’s only natural that she should inherit some of those gifts.”

“Aye, not many people know what Professor Amora is,” Hagrid nodded, his voice suddenly grave. “Or I suppose they choose not ter know, rather ignore it and I suppose it’s fer the best. Folks don’ take kindly ter ‘er kind if yeh get me meanin’.”

“A lot of people don’t approve of half-bloods,” Hermione whispered, mainly for Harry’s benefit.

“My dad says there’s always a case of hate crimes against half-bloods,” Ron piped up. “Usually from the old pure-blood wizarding families, but nothing much comes from it because of the influence they have.”

“And he’d be right,” Hagrid burst out, thumping his fist against the table, causing the plates to jump and Fang to whine at the sudden disturbance. “Professor Amora’s had a few attack’s in the past, but she’s given ‘em what fer.” Harry could quite easily imagine that she had.

“So she seemed like a good choice to investigate the trouble in the Forbidden Forest, I mean, if there was something dangerous?” Hermione asked, trying to seem innocent in her inquiries. Recognising her inquisitive mind at work, Harry thanked Merlin that she was there to subtly steer the course of the conversation in the direction they wanted, without arousing any suspicion. Fortunately for them, Hagrid fell for it.

“She understands them,” he insisted, leaning forward in his chair. “Normally she’d be quite happy ter leave ‘em be, but what with us guarding it she’s not takin’ any chances and security been made tighter. Poor Fluffy’s exhausted standin’ guard over that door all day.” Hagrid’s face suddenly changed into a look of horror as he leant back and shook his head. “I shoudn’ have said tha’,” he muttered. “I should not ‘ave said tha’.”

“But why would Professor Amora be concerned about security?” Hermione asked and Harry couldn’t help but think back to the Quidditch match and his bewitched broom.

“Dumbledore’s orders,” Hagrid replied as though it were obvious. “But it caused a hell o’ a row. Professor Amora were not impressed. Didn’t agree with him in the first place, thought it should’ve been destroyed, and then keepin’ it at Hogwarts, she went mad. But Dumbledore insisted after the break in that it was the best, and safest, place ter keep…it.” He managed to catch himself before revealing too much.

“A break in,” Harry murmured, the pieces beginning to fall into place. “You mean at Gringotts. What you got from vault 713, it’s here at Hogwarts.”

Hagrid looked at each of them desperately, imploring them to stop asking him so many questions. “I don’ know what yer mean, but it isn’t anything yer need to worry about.” He nodded determinedly. “Dumbledore has it under control so yer don’t need to worry.”

“Has what under control though?” Ron asked.

“I can’t tell yer that,” Hagrid replied. “It’s between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.” Realising he’d once again said more than he should, he cussed under his breath and begged the trio not to reveal what he’d told them.

“Don’t worry Hagrid, we won’t,” Harry promised as they made to leave, conscious that the sun had long since set during their conversation.

Waving goodbye to the giant man one last time, they ran back towards the castle. Already, Hermione was digesting and analysing the information that they had acquired. Ron, however, did not hold this information in the same regard. “Well that was a waste of bloody time,” he grumbled. “We still don’t know _what_ it is that they’re hiding.”

“Oh Ron,” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you listen to _anything?_ We now know where we need to look next.”

“We do?”

She rolled her eyes again in exasperation. “Hagrid said that as well Dumbledore, Nicholas Flamel is also involved, so we need to look into him.”

“We?” Harry grinned. “I thought you said we shouldn’t get involved.”

In response Hermione simply shrugged. “If Hagrid and Professor Amora’s conversation is anything to go by, then the school could be in danger. If we can find out what Dumbledore is hiding, then perhaps we can find out why someone would want to steal it.”

“It’s not just someone,” Ron mumbled. “We all know Snape’s to blame. None of the teachers believe us though.”

“Then we need proof to make them believe us. And Nicholas Flamel is the key to solving this.”


	17. Research, Research and more Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festive period has begun, yet there is no rest for the wicked

Harry sighed as he pushed aside the large volume he’d been reading and mechanically reached for the next one. No matter how many books he managed to scan through, the pile beside him didn’t seem to decrease at all.

“This is pointless ‘Mione,” Ron whined, pushing his own book aside, his head slamming down upon the surface in exhaustion.

“We are trying to find out about Nicholas Flamel,” She huffed, pulling a large leather bound manuscript from the extensive shelves of Hogwarts’ impressive library, and adding it to the pile. “And the best place to find out about someone is here in the library. They have books on almost every subject.”

“But not a map of how to find them,” Ron sent an imploring look in Hermione’s direction. “Couldn’t we just ask Pince where to find a book on Flamel? I mean, she must have the entire layout of the library memorised.”

“Do you think that if we ask Madam Pince about Flamel, she wouldn’t go and tell Dumbledore? No, we need to do this alone.”

Harry sighed and frowned as his stomach growled in protest. They’d missed lunch in their eagerness to start searching in what had been a futile attempt. “Maybe we should take a break, we have potions soon and Snape won’t be happy if we’re late.” But Hermione was gone again, rummaging through a fresh pile of manuscripts.

Sighing again, he pushed himself up and stretched his aching muscles. Wandering around the library, he wondered if there was an easier way to do this. For over a week they had been searching and yet they had found nothing, not even a mention of Flamel. _Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,_ Harry thought as he drifted towards the restricted section. He examined the large iron gates, allowing his fingers to trace over the large lock that kept it tightly closed. He couldn’t help but imagine what sort of books must be stored behind there.

“What do you think you are doing?” He heard a shrill voice behind him. “Get away from there!”

Harry jumped round to see Madam Pince stood, glaring furiously at him. He risked a glace towards Ron and Hermione who were both looking panicked. “I knew you were up to no good. Hanging round here, _studying._ Argus warned me you three were trouble makers. Go on, out! And don’t let me catch you hanging around the restricted section again!” And with that the trio scurried hastily from the library.

“Well that went well,” Ron grumbled once they were out of earshot. They slowed their pace as they passed the Great Hall, smelling the remnants of the feast they had missed, the delicious scents taunting their empty stomachs.

“We just have to be more careful next time,” Hermione tried to remain positive.

“Next time?” Ron snorted, “We’ll be lucky if Pince lets us anywhere near the library again.”

The trio continued on their way towards the dungeons, and their potions class, strategically avoiding the enchanted mistletoe that had been hung in the last week for the lead up to Christmas. It had been enchanted so that anyone caught under it would be unable to escape until they received a kiss. Harry had witnessed this when a flustered Snape had been caught under it with Professor Trelawney, who had looked anything but disgusted by her situation. Whilst Harry had expressed his amusement amongst his friends, and out of earshot of the disgruntled Snape, he had barely managed to contain his laughter at his Head of House and Weapon’s Mistress openly laughing at the Potions Master and making kissing noises when he leant in for a hasty kiss to the cheek.

Ever since then, Snape had been in a fouler mood than usual, resulting in him being even more liberal with his detention giving and deducting of house points.

And of course Gryffindor had borne the brunt of the Professor’s bad mood.

“Maybe Snape will have accidently drunk an elixir of festive cheer or something,” Ron said, voicing what they were all hoping. This dream was shattered the moment they entered the classroom, exactly fifteen seconds after the rest of the class and had twenty points removed from their house.

“Each,” Snape drawled, his thin lips curling back into a sneer. “Now if you would turn to page thirty-seven of your text books we will be looking at the twelve uses of Dragons blood, which you will be researching for homework over the Christmas break…”

 

 

 

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered as he and Harry were later sat in the Great Hall, watching their fellow students say farewell as they prepared to catch the Hogwarts express home for the holidays. “Any one would think Snape’s been taking advice from Old McGonagall on homework giving.”

Harry simply grunted in response as he glared sullenly at the large stack of homework that needed to be completed over the holidays. He supposed since he was spending it here at Hogwarts, he would have a better chance of completing it all, especially since some of the professors were staying as well. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Harry had been quite surprised at the number of staff that were staying, as he had expected that most of them would have gone home to visit their families, and whilst a few did, many had opted to stay on instead. Amongst those staying were Hagrid, who it seemed never left, along with Filch and Madam Pince who also spent their holidays at Hogwarts. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, both of whom apparently stayed as long as there was a student in the vicinity, and Professors Snape and Quirrell all chose to stay, along with Professor Trelawney, though she rarely left her tower, and Professor Amora, the latter causing numerous looks of surprise as it was well known that Amora often helped the Department of Magical Law enforcement. Having been an Auror before teaching at Hogwarts, and one of the only squibs to achieve this status, she was rumoured to be highly skilled and still very much in demand.

“Maybe I’m just getting too old,” she shrugged when a first year Hufflepuff had plucked up the courage to ask her one lesson. “You’ve got to let the younger generation go it alone at some point.”

It wasn’t just teachers staying, as several students like Harry had decided to stay on rather than return home for the holidays, mostly due to wanting to cram in more study time before their upcoming exams in the New Year. Although Malfoy had mocked him for having to stay because he had no parents, Harry wasn’t in the least bit upset and was actually looking forward to spending a Dursley free Christmas, with another positive being that Ron would be spending the holidays with him, as his parents had decided to visit Ron’s older brother Charlie. Not that Ron had been too happy about being left behind, mind you.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a voice broke through Harry’s musing as he saw the bush head of Hermione making her way towards them. She was dressed in her everyday clothes, wrapped up tightly in a coat and scarf, which had gold and red stripes of their house colours, and was carrying a small suitcase, no doubt filled with books to revise from. “Now I’ve been thinking,” she began, sending a sour look to Ron when she saw him groan and roll his eyes. “Whilst you’re here, you have the perfect opportunity to continuing looking into Nicholas Flamel. I’ll try and do some research as well and we’ll keep each other informed by owl. I’m sure I’ve come across his name somewhere before.” She muttered the last part mainly to herself.

“More studying,” Ron grumbled, a slight frown forming across his forehead.

Hermione gave an apologetic shrug. “Oh, and make sure to keep an eye out for Snape. With the school practically empty, the opportunity to try and sneak past Fluffy may be too great to resist, and until we know what is being guarded then we’re still at a disadvantage.”

“Somehow I don’t think he’ll try,” Harry said. “The school being empty may work to our advantage. The teachers will have less students to worry about and so will probably be more likely to notice if he starts hanging around there.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “I mean from what Percy’s said, the teachers pretty much leave any students staying to themselves and just check on them occasionally, which will be good for us .”

“And with less people about they’re probably going to be more paranoid about someone sneaking in undetected.”

“Nevertheless,” Hermione replied. “They think Snape’s to be trusted. If they think he’s protecting it then that gives him plenty of opportunities to get it. Just be careful.”

Somehow Harry was starting to feel that perhaps the Christmas period was going to be more eventful than he originally predicted.


	18. Festive Suprises Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some gifts turn out to be more useful than others...

Christmas day had certainly been one of wonder and surprise. Awaking that morning, Harry had been more than a little shocked to find a small pile of gifts addressed to him, something which he had not really expected to happen. He had been given a hand-knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley, along with a bag of sweets. Having heard of the Weasley’s rather sparse money situation from Ron himself, Harry had felt more than slightly touched that they would go to the trouble for someone who for all intents and purposes was a stranger to them. Not even his own family had made such an effort.

However it was the other mysterious gift that intrigued him most. It had no name attached to it to say who it was from, and the note left only produced more questions than answers.

“Bloody hell,” Ron had muttered as Harry had put on the finely stitched cloak. “It’s an invisibility cloak. My dad told me about ‘em. There was one a few years back…” And he rattled off on a story his father had told him, but Harry was only half listening. An invisibility cloak, eh? Well that could be useful.

Ron had been right when he said that the teachers mostly left the students to their own devices, as he’d only seen them a handful of times outside of meal times. One of those times had been when they were outside in the snow and the twins, Fred and George, had pummelled snowballs at the back of Quirrell’s head, a sight that still made him smile when he thought about it.

Later that evening, a Christmas banquet had been held in the Great Hall and although at first Harry had felt slightly awkward about sitting at the same table as the professors, he had soon found himself laughing quietly with the Weasley twins as he watched the adult’s _slightly tipsy_ conducts. A red faced Hagrid had leant down and kissed McGonagall on the cheek, knocking her hat askew and causing her to giggle and blush, a sight which Harry never thought he would witness. After managing to finish a bottle of firewhisky between them, Professors Dumbledore and Amora got into a rather animated discussion about muggle sweets that involved a lot of slurring and exaggerated hand gestures. Snape spent most of the evening scowling at Quirrell, who jumped every time Fred and George pulled an enchanted cracker, though by the end Harry was sure that they were doing it deliberately.

When Snape was finally confronted by Amora as to why he was being such a sourpuss, he began to whisper to her in earnest, his expression grave, as he made sure to keep his voice low enough so that no one else could hear. Whatever he said was enough to sober the Weapons Mistress completely, as she continued to converse with him in hushed tones, occasionally glancing across the table at where Quirrell was sat.

This continued until the end of the feast, when everyone was stuffed to their capacity and the students were sent back to their dormitories to enjoy the rest of the festivities amongst themselves. He, Ron, Fred and George had been in a rather heated game of Exploding Snap, Percy proclaiming the game was childish and opting to read quietly in the corner instead, when Professor Amora stopped by to do her rounds.

“I thought Heads of Houses were supposed to check on their students,” Fred smirked, giving his twin a nudge as they shared a mischievous glance.

“Supposed to be,” Amora agreed, looking everywhere but the small group of students.

“Rather the break from tradition,” George said, trying his best not to snigger.

“And we all no Professor McGonagall is a stickler for tradition.”

“Not forgetting her duties, Fred.”

“No, no. Never forgetting her duties George.”

Amora sighed and final turned to them, sending a stern look in their direction. Harry noticed that her lips were twitching as she tapped her fingers against her thigh. “Professor McGonagall wasn’t feeling too well so I said I’d do her rounds for her.”

Fred and George shared a look of mock concern. “Oh dear, I do hope she feels better soon.”

“That’s very kind of you both,” Amora sighed, covering her face with her hand as she massaged her forehead. Harry was almost certain that he could see a slight smile on her face.

“You don’t think there was anything wrong with the firewhisky she drank?”

“Bed,” Olenna shouted, pointing towards the boy’s dormitory. She shook her head ruefully as the pair jumped up and gave her a theatrical bow and then disappeared up the stairs, a scowling Percy not far behind them. Their festive mischief was done, if only for the night. Olenna sighed again and turned her attention to Ron and Harry. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind convincing your peers to be…discreet? Professor McGonagall would hex me into the next century if she found out…”

“Don’t worry,” Ron replied. “Percy ’ll no doubt be talking to them right now.” He left out the part that no one really listened to Percy, however.

“Professor McGonagall wasn’t that bad, was she?” he added after a pause.

Professor Amora raised an eyebrow as she looked up from her task of extinguishing the fire in the oversized marble hearth. “When I left about twenty minutes ago, she was singing obscene songs from her youth. And none too quietly either.” Picturing the image in her head, Olenna snorted and began to laugh, both Harry and Ron joining in as they tried to imagine the stern professor drunkenly singing.

“Now definitely not a word about that,” Amora laughed. “I really must insist that it be our secret.” She seemed satisfied once they both agreed and then sent them to bed, softly smiling as she bid them goodnight.

Harry was normally able to drift off without a problem, but tonight he was wide awake and no matter how much he tossed and turned he couldn’t seem to settle down. The loud snores from Ron’s bed told him that his friend had been out almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. No point in trying to wake him up then.

Glancing around, Harry’s gaze eventually fell upon his father’s old cloak. The invisibility cloak. Maybe that would help him get into the restricted section to research Flamel. _Well,_ he thought creeping quietly out of bed, _no time like the present to try it._

 

* * *

Carefully removing the cloak and placing it on the table next to the lamp, Harry couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get to the restricted section of the library with the cloak. He’d passed Filch at one point and panicked as he thought the old cantankerous caretaker was bound to see him, however he had walked straight passed him, oblivious to Harry’s presence, and muttered sourly to Mrs Norris about the good old days of student punishments. Nevertheless, Harry had managed to make it to make it to the library undetected and was now scanning each spine carefully, hoping to find something on Flamel.

“A...B…C,” he muttered, tracing his finger along the shelf. “E…” Suddenly his eyes landed upon a smaller book that caught his attention immediately. In thick, jagged letters that looked like they had been carved aggressively into the wrinkled leather, Harry read the title of the book.

_The Elders._

He felt a slight apprehension as he ran his slightly trembling fingers along the faded letters. The book looked to be at least a few centuries old, and remembering Binns’ reaction to their mentioning, Harry could understand why it had been placed in the restricted section. Even now, it seemed to be a subject that was avoided when possible and left a nervous energy in the room whenever someone mentioned it.

Sighing, Harry turned away from the book and continued his search. He had more pressing matters to attend to and he knew Hermione would never forgive him if she found out he missed such an opportunity. Who knew when he’d get another one like this, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to sneak into the restricted section once term started again. By then it might be too late anyway and Snape may have already found his way past Fluffy.

As he looked through the ‘F’ section, Harry couldn’t help but feel a curious tug. He could always have a quick read of the book once he had found what he was looking for on Flamel. After all, no one knew he was here and he only had to be back in his dorm before sunrise, he had plenty of time.

Unfortunately, Mrs Norris and Filch would ensure that this would not be the case.


	19. Festive Surprises Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running in an invisibility cloak is not always the best idea...

Heart racing, Harry sped along the corridor desperate to get back to his dormitory. He had to tell someone, had to show Ron. He wouldn’t believe him but Harry would show him. His parents, they’d been there. In the mirror. They’d actually been there. Maybe the mirror was actually some kind of portal, something that allowed him to see his parents. He had to show Ron.

Rounding the corner in haste, barely looking where he was going, he heard a winded “omphf” as he collided head first with a firm presence and tumbled backwards, the cloak tangling and revealing half a very anxious looking Harry.

“Well, well,” the voice of the shadowed figure drawled. “Potter and an invisibility cloak. Now isn’t that a recipe for disaster.” He watched as it extended a hand, offering to help him up. Knowing that it was unlikely that he’d be able to make a quick getaway, Harry accepted the hand offered as it pulled him up off the floor. Although it didn’t take much effort to pull the small boy up, the figure took a step forward to get the momentum needed which meant they now stood directly in the moonlight. Harry wasn’t sure whether or not he was relieved or terrified when he saw who it was.

“I’m sorry Professor Amora,” he mumbled, finding himself unable to meet her steely gaze.

“Perhaps before you apologise you might like to explain to me why you are out of bed after hours?”

 _She didn’t ask me about the cloak,_ Harry thought. _If I saw a student with a cloak that made you invisible I’d probably ask where they got it from. Unless she knows who sent it._

“I’m waiting,” she sighed irritably, tapping her foot. Minerva owed her big time for this.

“Errr…” Harry uttered dumbly. He couldn’t tell her about the mirror. It was no doubt off limits to students and she’d probably be furious, and on the other hand he couldn’t tell her the real reason he was out of bed, especially when she’d already warned him and his friends to back off. “The library,” he stuttered, settling on half a truth.

“And what were you doing in the library at this hour?” Her scowl was gradually become deeper and he was starting to wish he’d stayed in bed after all.

Fortunately he was saved from having to give an answer when they heard voices approaching from further down the corridor. Less fortunately, Harry recognised that the voices belonged to Snape and Filch. He really was in for it now.

Amora must have sensed his panic, because she suddenly scooped up the cloak and seized him by the arm, dragging him towards the nearest classroom and forcing him inside, saving him from a further confrontation with two members of staff who would no doubt encourage that he be strung up by his thumbs in the dungeon as punishment.

“Now then,” the professor said, moving toward her desk and laying the cloak on it, then turning to face him. “I believe you were telling me why you felt the need to visit the library at such a late hour. Surely your assignments could wait until at least the morning.”

“Well you see…Professor, I was err…” Harry racked his brain desperately trying to come up with a plausible excuse. He glanced around looking for inspiration, noticing for the first time that they were in the weapons classroom. She continued to watch him unblinkingly, making him feel even more nervous. _What was he going to say? What could he-?_ Suddenly it hit him. He remembered the book. “I was looking for something on the Elders.”

“The Elders?” she cried, clearly taken aback.

“Yes,” Harry replied, beginning to feel more confident in his story. “Professor Binns mentioned them in class a few weeks ago but wouldn’t tell us anything about them. Then Professor McGonagall told us that they were witches and wizards who didn’t need wands to perform magic when we asked her, but I’ve been curious ever since.” That wasn’t a lie, he had been curious but somehow had never found the time to look into it what with their research into Flamel.

Amora continued to stare at Harry, as though trying to tell if he was being honest or not. Eventually she seemed to accept his story with a brisk nod and pushed herself off her desk, moving towards a small chest at the back of the classroom. “If you’re wanting to know more about the Elders then unfortunately Hogwarts’ library is not the best place to look. The few bits of information it does have a more fanciful rumours rather than actual fact. The only truth they have is that Elders, indeed, did not require wands to perform magic, but apart from that you’ll find nothing but biased lies.” She began muttering to herself as she bent down to rummage through the chest, eventually giving a triumphant cry when she located what she was looking for. Moving back towards Harry with a light smile on her face, he noticed that she was carrying what appeared to be a journal in her hands.

“If you’re truly interested in knowing more about the Elders, then this might help you,” she carefully handed him the journal. He looked at the slightly worn and frayed cover noticing that the letters ‘J.H.A’ were stitched into the cover. When he asked her about them, she gave a sad smile. “Jacob Henri Amora. He was my father and that was his journal. He made it his life’s work to study the Elders. It was his obsession really.”

“How did he find out about them?” Harry asked, opening the book to reveal the cursive handwriting within. “If no one ever talks about them I mean.”

“He was French,” Professor Amora replied, her voice light and wistful. “They’re a little more open minded at Beauxbatons. I think he hoped I would follow in his footsteps and attend there as well, but we had moved to England by that point and my name had appeared on the Hogwarts list at my birth.”

“He must have been proud,” Harry said. He’d heard that it was rare for a student’s name to appear as soon as they were born as it normally took a few months.

“Exceptionally,” she laughed. “Until he realised I had the same magical ability as an old chair. I think he had high expectations of what I’d be. Something great he once told me, something worth of my namesake.”

“Olenna?” he whispered, seeing the name scrawled on one of the pages of the journal. It had been traced over so many times that the letters stood out dark and proud on the page. _When mankind began to grow, the Gods created five creatures to tame the wayward magic of the world. Olenna, borne of darkness was the first, followed by her mate and counterpart Acacius, the one of light._ _Baltsaros, Nyssa and Hesperos of the Sun, Earth and Moon respectively, followed to create the Five Elders that would govern all magical creatures._

“First of the five original Elders, and eventual Queen. The Great and Dark one. Murderer to the masses,” she chuckled softly. “Perhaps it’s a good thing I didn’t take too much after her. Having a squib in the family isn’t exactly something worth bragging about, but at least it’s better than becoming a monster.”

Harry looked up, feeling a stab of pain in his chest at the sorrow in her eyes. “But you were educated at Hogwarts. I don’t know of any squibs that can say that.”

“True,” she admitted.

The silence that followed was almost too much for Harry to bear, and so he desperately tried to fill it with something, anything. “What happened to him? Your father?”

Inhaling deeply through her nose and pressing her lips together, Olenna seemed lost in her memories for a moment. “He was researching a potential site for one of the last known Elder villages, when he contracted Dragonpox and died not long after. I was p-…out of the country and unable to get back in time.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. Olenna shrugged in a way that said _what can you do?_ “Are you sure you don’t want to keep hold of this?” He asked, offering the journal back to his professor. “If it meant so much to your father?”

She chuckled again, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. “No, I’ve read the thing so many times I could recite it cover to cover, it can tell me nothing new. No it was time someone else got to enjoy Jacob’s work.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “You mean…”

“Keep it. But don’t tell anyone. Whilst I have an extensive library at home, I don’t think I could afford to give away a book every time I caught a student out of bed after hours, and no your attempt to distract me from the fact that you were breaking school rules by asking me about the Elders did not work.” Amora said, the slight teasing light in her pale eyes told Harry he was not in too much trouble. “However since it’s Christmas I’ll let it slide, after all, eggnog really doesn’t do anything for my memory.”

“Yes Professor,” Harry replied, trying his best not to laugh.

“Now, to bed with you. And don’t let me catch you again.” As Harry hurried to the door, he heard Amora call his name again. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” She held up his father’s cloak in one hand. Harry quickly muttered his thanks as he took it and placed it over him, making his way to the door. As he held the handle, poised to leave, he was suddenly struck with a thought.

“Professor?” He said, removing the material from his face.

“Yes?”

“Is it possible for the dead to come back? To life I mean.”

“Why do you ask?” Olenna leant forward, regarding him with her penetrating stare.

“No reason,” he lied. “I was just wondering.” Once again he was subject to her piercing gaze, making him feel as though she could see into his thoughts, could see the mirror in his mind. Eventually she sighed, her voice softening as she spoke. “As much as we might wish it otherwise, what’s dead is dead, nothing can change that. It is possible, I believe, to see what we have lost but that would require some exceptional magic and bringing something back to life is near on impossible.” She gave him a sad smile. “If everything has a beginning, Harry, then it wouldn’t be right if it didn’t have an end too.”

Nodding slowly, Harry finally left the classroom and scurried back towards the Gryffindor common room. She had to be wrong, after all he’d _seen_ his parents and he knew for a fact that they were both dead. Maybe the mirror was a way to communicate with the dead, like Professor Amora had said. He clutched Jacob Amora’s journal tightly to his chest. Either way, he’d get his proof when he showed Ron and he saw his parents again.

 

* * *

 

Olenna had waited for a few moments after Harry had left before standing up and making her way over to the fireplace in the corner of the room. Scooping up a handful of floo powder, she threw it into the fire place, speaking her desired destination and stepping into the bright green flames that burst into life.

Emerging from the flames, Olenna stepped onto a plush rug, careful not to mark the fabric with any residual soot. She moved with purpose through the large office, filled with odd trinkets and ornaments from decades of collecting, and then up the stairs towards the private chambers, not bothering to knock and pausing only for a moment to give the password that would enable her access.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting.” Olenna said, not sounding even remotely sorry. She observed the scene before her, the Headmaster and his Deputy sat on an oversized sofa in front of a blazing fire. Both had long since removed their shoes, and Minerva had even released her hair from its customary bun, reclining back with her stocking-clad feet resting across Albus’ lap. It was quite the cosy scene, and only served to remind Olenna that she should have been in bed hours ago.

“Olenna, I’m surprised you’re still up.” Albus said as Minerva removed her feet from their original position and moved to sit in a more upright position. Although the women had been friends for years, Minerva always felt that it was appropriate to behave with a little decorum.

“I was doing Minerva’s rounds,” Olenna replied casually, sitting down opposite the pair with an exhausted sigh.

“I’ll take it your presence means that not everything went smoothly?”

“For the most part it did,” Olenna shrugged. Her eyes then widened as she quickly remembered something. “Oh, by the way Minerva, for some reason your students think you didn’t do the rounds because you were drunk.”

“You told them I was drunk?” Minerva snapped in indignation, heat rising to her cheeks. She knew she should never have asked Olenna for this favour, she should have just done it herself and saved all the hassle-

“Actually I told them you weren’t feeling well. _They_ thought you were drunk. Especially after dinner, and I could hardly tell them the real reason now could I?” She sent them both a pointed look whilst they suddenly found great interest in the stone flooring. “But that’s not why I’m here. I caught young Mr Potter out of bed after hours.”

Minerva was back in full teacher mode. “After hours? What an earth was he doing?”

“Told me he was going to the library, and whilst I believe he did, I don’t think he was telling me the complete truth.”

“Well what did he say he went to the library for?” Minerva asked.

Olenna paused for a moment before replying. “Reading material. For a potions essay. Said he couldn’t sleep and wanted to get started on it.” Olenna could tell Minerva was sceptical of this but grateful that she didn’t press the matter. “I believe he found the Mirror of Erised.”

“What makes you sure of that?” Albus asked, his face unreadable.

“Well he was coming from that direction,” Olenna sighed. “And he asked me if it was possible to bring the dead back to life.”

“And why do you think that means that he found the mirror?”

“We both know what he is likely to have seen if he looked in that mirror.”

“Not necessarily. If he was in the library, he could have come across a proposed hypothesis for a potion or spell to reanimate the dead.”

“Albus.”

“Alright it does seem unlikely.” Albus relented.

Olenna lent forward, sending an imploring look in his direction. “Look, I know it’s pointless asking you to get rid of the stone, so I won’t. All I ask is that you keep an eye on him. You know how dangerous the mirror can be, and if we’re not careful Harry may be unable to resist its pull.” She waited with baited breath.

Finally, Albus nodded. “If he continues to return to it then I shall intervene.” Satisfied for the time being, Olenna nodded and arose from her seat. “Hagrid found another one yesterday evening.” Albus added quietly.

“I know,” Olenna murmured. “Kettleburn examined it. Bled dry, same as the last one.”

“Once term begins again, I will be putting in measures to protect the school. This is to be kept quiet; I don’t want to alarm the students.” As he spoke, Albus chose not to look at Olenna, slightly fearful of her reaction, but rather kept his gaze firmly on Minerva. Subsequently, he missed Olenna’s gentle smile and look of relief. “Thank you, Albus.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop referring to me as a ‘barmy old coot’ in front of the staff?”

“Probably not,” Olenna laughed. “But it does mean I have faith in you. I know in your way you’ll do what you believe is best. You’re not a fool Albus as you wouldn’t be Headmaster otherwise.” She glanced between her two colleagues and bowed her head slightly, bidding them both good night before making her exit. Feeling slightly more positive than she had in months, the exhaustion that had lurked just beneath the surface finally caught up on her as she thought of nothing but her warm bed. Perhaps she’d be able to have a later start tomorrow, one of the perks of the students being away, as long as no other incidents happened that is. Oh, how she hoped the boy would stay away from that mirror and that Jacob’s journal would keep him occupied for a little while, even if it did bring back memories she’d rather not recall.


	20. The Mirror Shows What the Heart Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins to fall under the spell of the mirror, and learns a little bit more of his family's history...

Harry continued to stare at the smooth reflective surface of the mirror as though it held the answer to all his problems. He’d been so consumed by the mirror and the image it held, that for the past few days he had not been able to think of anything else. Every night, he waited until he was sure the rest of the castle would be asleep and then snuck down the route he now knew by heart.

On the night he’d discovered the mirror, after Professor Amora had allowed him to return to his dormitory, he’d intended to return to bed, however the pull of the mirror had been too strong. Needing conformation that what he’d seen was true, he’d awoken Ron and dragged the dazed and bleary-eyed Weasley out of bed and to see the mirror, being extra careful when passing the Weapon’s classroom. He’d felt slightly guilty about sneaking out again, however what his professor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Unfortunately, Ron had not given him the conformation he wanted to hear. He hadn’t seen Harry’s parents, but rather he saw himself as Captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team, and Head Boy to boot.

“Maybe it shows the future,” he had whispered in wonder at the scene before him.

“How can it,” Harry replied mournfully, feeling a stab of disappointment pierce his heart. “My parents are dead.” And from that moment he’d been so curious as to find out what the mirror was, he’d temporarily forgotten about his quest to stop Snape from stealing whatever Fluffy was guarding, and even forgot about the journal Amora had given him.

The truth was, he wasn’t so much interested in the purpose of the mirror, but rather he couldn’t let the image it held go. All his life, he’d mourned for parents he had never known, a family he had been robbed of experiencing. His aunt and uncle had never wanted to talk about them, always telling him to stop asking questions and changing the subject and because of that, he felt that staring into the mirror, he was glimpsing into the life he could have had. A life he had been denied, not only because of Voldemort, but because he had grown up being denied the right to get to know his mother and father through the memories of those who had known them. The image made him feel guilty because he saw what was essentially a pair of strangers to him, because he had to imagine what they were like instead of actually _knowing_ about them.

He’d been so preoccupied with his thoughts, that he hadn’t even noticed that he barely noticed the image in the mirror slowly descend into a mist. As it began to clear, Harry saw that his parents had gone and a new scene was playing out before him. It was dark, however he could make out the figures in the mirror darting about around a bed, illuminated by a faint light. Edging closer until his nose was practically pressed against the cool surface, he watched in stunned silence as a blurry figure rushed to attend a heavily pregnant woman, writhing and crying out in agony. At first he wondered if he was witnessing his own birth, but quickly dismissed this as the surroundings seemed far too old and the woman, though her face was obscured, appeared different. “It’s nearly time,” the woman, who he guessed was a nurse, whispered to the pregnant woman.

“No,no,no,” came a strangled moan, as she clutched at her bulbous stomach. “Not now, no, it’s gone. I must find it first I have to find it.”

There were more hushed whispers that Harry couldn’t hear over the tormented screams. He watched as she stretched out a trembling hand, trying to grasp a glass just out of her reach. The glass trembled slightly, almost as though it would leap into her but remained where it was as she cried out in pain again. “No,” she sobbed. “No it’s gone. He should have stayed away I warned him-“ she cut herself off with a violent scream that caused Harry to leap back from the mirror, stumbling on the leg of his pyjama bottoms. He fell back, breathing heavily and realising for the first time that he was no longer alone. As he glanced nervously up at the half moon spectacles, he felt dread wash over him.

“Good evening Harry,” Dumbledore said.

Harry, still shaken from what he had witnessed, glanced back with wide eyes at the mirror, which now held the image of his parents again. “W-what was that?”

“Do you know what this mirror shows?” Dumbledore had asked, and when Harry had admitted he didn’t, he’d elaborated. “The happiest man in the world would look in this mirror and see only himself.”

Finally, realisation dawned upon Harry as he looked to the mirror again. “It shows us what our heart most desires.” He heard Dumbledore say. So it wasn’t real, his parents really were gone. Although deep down he knew this to be true, part of him had wanted to believe that even the impossible could happen. He gazed down dejectedly at the ground, no longer able to look at the image before him. That still didn’t explain what he had seen. “But the mirror changed,” Harry said, looking up at the confused face of his professor. “It showed my parents, but then it changed and I saw a woman. At first I thought it was my mother but it wasn’t, her hair was too dark. She was pregnant, giving birth I think, and she seemed scared. She kept saying that she had lost something and when she tried to summon the glass, it wouldn’t come to her.”

Dumbledore processed this for a moment, before carefully saying, “What were you thinking, just before you saw this?”

“About how I didn’t know my parents or very much about them.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore replied. “Then I believe the mirror, in its own way was showing you your desire.”

Harry felt his eyes widen as he whispered, “Do you mean that…”

“If who you were describing was who I am thinking of, then I believe that you saw the image of your Grandmother, on your father’s side.”

“Did you know her? I mean, where you there when she…?”

Dumbledore chuckled slightly, “Heavens no. I knew her yes, but I wasn’t there for the birth. I don’t believe anyone I know was either. Very few even knew she was pregnant and she wanted to keep it that way.”

“But why though?” Harry asked. Surely it would have been a happy time for any family, the birth of a child. Or that was what he had been lead to believe when he had seen his neighbours across the street, bring him their squealing baby, joy written across their faces.

“Those were different times back then,” Dumbledore’s face was solemn, if not slightly remorseful. “People didn’t take too kindly to unwed mothers.”

Harry could barely contain his surprise at this revelation, having assumed that his grandparents would have been married. “Why did they never get married?”

“I’m afraid I could not answer that. I never knew who your grandfather was, and it felt impertinent to ask. The memory of it brought nothing but pain for your grandmother and for your father.”

“I wish I knew more about them,” he whispered, looking wistfully at the image, now seeing two shadowy figures appearing just behind his father, their features too blurred to make out.

“Men have gone mad chasing after the image in the mirror, wasting away before it and forgetting to live,” Dumbledore continued, watching the lost young boy stood before. “I will have it moved after tonight, and I would ask that you do not search for it again.”

“How did you know that I…” Harry began to ask, however realisation dawned upon him before he could finish his question.

The older wizard smiled at him kindly. “You may not have realised but there are people here who care a great deal for you.” Harry was about to question him further but Dumbledore held up his hand. “But alas the hour is late and I know Professor McGonagall does not approve of students breaking curfew.”

Knowing that he was lucky not to be given detention for sneaking out, Harry decided that it would probably be best to return to his dorm, however couldn’t help but risk one final question. “Professor,” he asked hesitantly, “What do you see in the mirror?”

Dumbledore seemed surprised by this question, and turned to look at the mirror. “I am holding a nice pair of woollen socks,” he replied. Harry could tell that this was a lie, however decided not to press any further, realising that he would likely not get an answer, and so quietly snuck out, leaving Professor Dumbledore alone in the room with the mirror.


	21. Hagrid's Happy Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boring day of studying becomes much more interesting...

After that night, Harry kept his word and didn’t seek out the Mirror of Erised again. Not that he wasn’t tempted to. He still felt the lure of the Mirror’s promise to show him what he desired most, however he knew Dumbledore would have moved it somewhere where he wouldn’t find it again. And besides, with term starting again he had found that the work load had increased and most of his time was taken up with completing the mountains of homework. Then, what time wasn’t spent on his education was taken up with the search for information on Nicholas Flamel.

Between the three of them, they had searched every inch of the library, every book and possible resource available to them, but to no avail.

“There can’t just be nothing,” Hermione cried in despair, pushing another tome aside. Harry nodded his head, hidden behind a large manuscript he had propped up in front on him. Whilst he had original done this to give his aching neck a chance to recover, he soon discovered that this was in fact a brilliant way to hide his ‘little breaks’ from reading, so that Hermione didn’t realise. As long as he remembered to occasionally turn the page.

He had stopped reading the countless dusty historical biographies and had found himself looking for something that wasn’t written two hundred years ago by a reclusive and unadventurous wizard and, amongst his own textbooks, had come across Jacob’s journal which he realised must have got mixed up with them in his haste earlier that morning.

When he first opened to book, he was dismayed to discover that it was written in Jacob’s native tongue. Whilst he had learned some basic French in his muggle education prior to Hogwarts, it was nowhere near enough to even begin to enable him to translate. About to push the book aside until a later time, _perhaps he could speak to Professor Amora about translating,_ when the ink on the page began to move, slithering from its original shapes to form new letters and Harry realised that the words themselves were changing, adapting so that their reader could understand.

 _Professor Amora’s father must have charmed the book so that anyone could understand it,_ he thought as he scanned the pages. Reading further, he quickly realised that some of the pages had been burnt, either completely or partially destroying them and Harry wondered if it had been done deliberately. Each entry was marked with a date and place and Harry soon learned that as well as his researching into the Elders, the journal also contained accounts of Jacob’s life, from his earlier days of studying ancient texts, to pursuing a legendary clan of faeries, rumoured to have protected the Elder Queen in her exile. It even contained details about Professor Amora’s birth and childhood, though Harry skipped over those parts feeling as though it would be intruding in his professor’s personal life. He was reading about Jacob’s involvement in the fight against the dark wizard, Grindelwald, when he came across a passage that made his heart stop.

“I think I found something,” he announced, showing the journal to his friends.

“Where did you get that?” Ron asked, examining the cover. “What’s J.H.A?”

“Jacob Amora,” Harry replied. “Professor Amora’s father. It’s his journal, she gave it to me the night she caught me out of bed after hours and I told her that I was in the library looking for a book on the Elders.”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “We’re supposed to be looking into Nicholas Flamel, not the Elders.”

Ignoring her he pointed to the third paragraph down. “Read it.”

“July 16th, 1927. Paris,” she read aloud. Her eyes skimmed down the page to the extract Harry had pointed out. “Grindelwald is to hold a secret meeting, though we are yet to find where. Minerva thinks it will be to recruit witches and wizards to his cause, and I find myself inclined to agree.” Her eyes widened in surprise as she read ahead, her mouth dropping open slightly. “I introduced Leiah to Nicholas today in the hope he would agree to help us. He was fascinated by her after she agreed to share her secret with him in the hope it would encourage him to fight. Leiah was equally enthralled and they spent hours discussing potions and alchemy, yet despite all this we were still unable to recruit Flamel to our cause.”

Ron stared at Hermione, clearly with only one question on his mind. “Who’s Leiah?”

Hermione did seem to hear him, as she gasped and slammed the journal shut. “Of course,” she cried. “How could I have been so stupid? I checked it out weeks ago.” And with that she dashed off to another part of the library with new found determination, still muttering angrily to herself. After a couple of minutes, she returned, carrying the largest book Harry had seen in his life. “I checked it out for a bit of light reading,” she informed them, with Harry and Ron sharing a look of disbelief.

“ _That’s_ light reading?” Ron muttered.

“Ah, here it is,” Hermione scanned the page, eventually finding what she was looking for. “Nicholas Flamel is a renowned alchemist, and inventor of the philosopher’s stone. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle. That’s what Fluffy’s guarding, under that trap door. It has to be the philosopher’s stone,” she cried enthusiastically, blushing when she received a harsh ‘shush’ from Madam Pince.

Glancing around and lowering his voice, Harry asked, “Why would anyone be interested in that?” He’d once read a book on myths and legends in his muggle school. It supposedly could turn lead to gold. “It can do more than just that,” Hermione replied when he shared this with them. “It is rumoured to have the power to grant virtual immortality. It would be a very desirable item for anyone to have, especially a dark wizard.”

“Snape must want to use it for himself,” Harry declared, hastily gathering his things as Madam Pince began marshalling them from the library, moaning in despair at the array of book piled haphazardly across their table.

“Maybe,” Hermione said, unconvinced. “Why not use it before now, I mean as one of the professors protecting it, surely he must have access to it?”

“Perhaps he’s waiting for a distraction,” Ron suggested. “You said it yourself, he’s only one of several professors protecting the stone. They’d soon notice if he was sneaking down there.”

Shaking her head, Hermione pursed her lips in thought. “No, there has to be something else.”

At that moment, Neville Longbottom came sprinting up to them, red faced and puffing as he tried to catch his breath. “Quick, Hagrid,” He wheezed, gradually turning a shade of purple. “He wants to see you. He said to go meet him at his hut, he said it was important.”

Sharing a glance, the trio shot off towards Hagrid’s hut, leaving a poor Neville still wheezing and huffing in confusion.

 

 

As they arrived at his door, the gigantic man shushed them and quickly ushered them inside, glancing around the growing darkness outside, before hastily shutting the door behind them.

“Hagrid, what’s wrong?” Harry asked. “You said it was important.” He watched as the Groundskeeper shuffled over towards the open fireplace, where he appeared to be boiling some large pot over the roaring flame. “It’s almost time,” he replied, donning a pair of large pink oven gloves. “Thought yer migh’ like ter see. Not many get ter witness something like it,”

“Like what, Hagrid?” Harry said as the moved closer to the pot, weary of what they might find inside. Their eyes widened in surprise as Hagrid reached into it and pulled out a dark object, juggling it between his hands before dropping it to the table with a slight ‘ _clunk_ ’.

“Bloody hell,” Ron gawped, shakily pointing at the object. “That’s a dragon egg. My brother, Charlie, works with Dragons in Romania. He sends me pictures,” he said by way off an explanation.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Do with it?” Hagrid bellowed. “Keep it, o’ course.”

“But Hagrid,” Hermione chimed in. “Isn’t keeping dragons illegal?” They watched as he appeared quite sheepish and muttered under his breath, something that sounded very much like “not unless anyone finds out.”

A slight cracking sound interrupted their conversation and they turned to watch in silent awe as the egg began to crack and splinter, fragile chunks being broken from the force of a tiny creature from within, desperate to escape. Eventually, the tiny head of the baby dragon broke through, its skin smooth and slimy as it chirped wildly, stumbling forward onto the wooden table.

“Isn’t he magnificent,” Hagrid gushed, already smitten with the new arrival. Harry thought for a dragon that it was quite unimpressive. He’d expected claws and fangs and fire-breathing viciousness and this tiny little thing looked completely harmless, like it couldn’t scare a mouse. However, as the dragon, which Hagrid had affectionately named ‘Norbert’, blew a stream of fire that singed Hagrid’s beard, Harry realised that despite what it looked like now, the dragon would eventually grow into the terrifying creature of nightmares.

“Hey, who’s that outside?” Ron asked, pointing out the window. Harry looked up in time to see a flash of pale blonde hair, as whoever it was realised that they had been caught spying and hastily took their leave.

“Blimey, look at the time,” Hagrid gulped, finally shaken from his admiring of the infant dragon. “I hadn’t even realised ‘ow dark it was. You bes’ be gettin’ back before they realise yer still out.” Saying their goodbyes to Hagrid (and Norbert) the trio quietly made their way back to the castle, conscious that without the cloak they could easily be spotted by a patrolling professor. For a while, Harry thought that they were going to make it back to their dorm undetected.

That was until they rounded a corner only to discover a furious looking Professor McGonagall stood in their path with none other than Draco Malfoy.

“Bloody Hell,” Ron muttered.

Professor McGonagall raised an elegant eyebrow. “Bloody Hell indeed, Mr Weasley.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net but am posting it over here as well in the hope that it might motivate me to finish it at some point.


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